


Almost Human

by esteefee



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Artificial Intelligence, Cyborgs, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mind Control, Wordcount: 30.000-50.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-24
Updated: 2011-09-24
Packaged: 2017-10-24 00:14:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 30,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/256688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteefee/pseuds/esteefee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cybernetic/Human Construct Type 2 with enhanced artificial intelligence, Serial Number 5592930299, Designation: Sheppard, Major John is sent on a mission to the Pegasus Galaxy. He and twenty-six other cycons on the expedition are hiding a secret.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cover Art by lorien

**Author's Note:**

> Mature for violence and themes.
> 
> Most excellent beta by [coolbreeze1](http://coolbreeze1.livejournal.com). Many, many thanks! Any add'l errors are my own. Thanks also to kristen999 for the pom poms.
> 
> ETA: Please note I published this before the TV show stole my title! No fair!

  
[   
](http://archiveofourown.org/works/256688/chapters/400570)   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cover Art by the effin' brilliant [lorien_79](http://lorien_79.livejournal.com). I cannot thank her enough for her talent and her kindness. She made me not one but two fabulous covers. It was a tough call. [View the alternate cover](http://esteefee.com/imgs/almost_human_1.png) and you'll see what I mean. :))


	2. Almost Human

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cybernetic/Human Construct Type 2 with enhanced artificial intelligence, Serial Number 5592930299, Designation: Sheppard, Major John is sent on a mission to the Pegasus Galaxy. He and twenty-six other cycons on the expedition are hiding a secret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: A spot of mind-control by Darkish!Rodney (OOC) who, due to past trauma, goes off the rails a bit. He has a change of heart but not until after he commits a criminal act, so if _Trinity_ made you squirm, you may not enjoy this story. Minor character death. Also, I messed with S1 episode order.

  


"Well? Well, Carson? Did you find out if there are more where it came from?"

John trained his optics on the pure human in the rust-colored jacket, Dr. Rodney McKay, who was bouncing in the doorway to the infirmary lab, then glanced over at the doctor who was seated in front of the computer terminal and currently looking up John's records.

"I'm afraid not, Rodney," Dr. Beckett said, but he was giving John the apologetic look. "Apparently, he was the only viable cycon in his manufacturing group. The cloning from his genetic sample kept failing and they EOLed his line." Beckett frowned. "It also says here he showed a mite too much independent initiative."

"That must be why the Army booted it down here to McMurdo," Dr. McKay said thoughtfully.

"No, that was the Air Force, Dr. McKay," John said. "You know, the service that flies you back and forth across the ice every day?"

McKay twitched and looked at John directly for the first time.

John kept his expression perfectly bland. McKay's eyes were a cold gray-blue. John made a quick imagebank retrieval and noted ironically the color perfectly matched that of a deep glacier. John usually liked glaciers; it was one of the first things about Antarctica that had drawn him in—the way the vastness of the arcing blue tried to deceive his optics into thinking they were closer than they were.

That, and the smooth fields of white. They reminded him of when he was first created and had opened his eyes within the pristine cybernetics lab—white walls, white-clad operators, and the soft hum of his steadily pumping pneumatic heart. That was before he'd come to understand the world he had been born into, and the differences between him and the white-clad technicians at CyberTronics who had treated him as highly functioning furniture.

Before John had learned to feel. Before he'd learned to hide.

"So, then," McKay was saying, "no chance of acquiring another one with such a strong ATA...."

"No, Rodney. And that falls in line with my other research." Beckett rubbed his eyes. "The ATA destabilizes the bonds between base pairings in a way we don't understand, such that during cloning ligation, too many errors are introduced. I think our only option is as I surmised—we'll have to develop a gene therapy."

"Terrifying. You won't catch me being your guinea pig," McKay said. "Well, come along, Sheppard," he snapped his fingers, "you're mine for the day. Weir says so."

"I don't report to Dr. Weir."

"You do now. The Arm—Air Force gave you to us."

John felt the slight spin of his rotors increasing blood flow—a direct result of the artificial hormone manufactured by his AI core in response to a threat that also amplified the transducive properties of his logic circuits. "Gave me?" The sudden demand of oxygen to his tissues had not yet been compensated for by his CO2 exchanger, and his vocal response lacked sufficient breath support.

"Yep. You're all ours, according to General O'Neill. Oh! He wanted to talk to you, but I need you for the diagnostics I'm running on the Ancient control chair—Sheppard! Where are you going?"

John was already to the doorway, but he paused. "I'm going to report to General O'Neill as ordered." He'd kind of liked O'Neill. "See you later, Doctors Beckett, McKay."

The corridor was clear, so John allowed himself a small grin at the sputtering noises behind him as he strode away.

:::  


_When John was two months old and almost ready to be sent to his new owners, they put him in the chair and hit him with yet another set of training modules._

_"I thought I was finished with training." He didn't like the modules. They made him react atypically. They were supposed to only contain the language and skills of the original human owners, but they always carried something extra. Over and beyond the neuro-overlay, John would pick up echoes sometimes, almost-memories, or even—though he wouldn't think of reporting it—what he could almost categorize from books as what pure humans called 'emotions'. At least, that was what John thought they might be._

_This one, for example: as the tech loaded the module, John felt the icy cool of the overlay spread through his cortex, then the physical sensation of his right hand clutching a stick control, his feet manipulating pedals as the...chopper...he was flying took off, and beneath that, a soaring feeling just beneath his sternum, pleasant, almost like being in a biotank, except without the accompanying pain of recovering from a training injury. It felt so good he found himself smiling involuntarily, and he quickly controlled his facial response for fear the tech would see and make note of it. But he liked this. He really liked flying, and as they ran him through module after module—Black Hawk, Pave Hawk, Huey, Osprey, Apache, Iroquois—he had to fight harder and harder to keep the smile from blooming across his face, born from a joy that wasn't even his own.  
_




  


:::

"So," General O'Neill looked at him searchingly, and John kept his eyes front and center. "You've got this gene." O'Neill wiggled his fingers. "I've got it, too. Except I'm not really in the mood to go flying off to another galaxy, what with the mortgage and the dog and all. And seeing as they booted you down here for that black mark..." O'Neill frowned unconvincingly. "What was that for again?"

John held himself still. "Disobeying orders in order to retrieve my downed teammates behind enemy lines. Sir."

"Yeah, that. Bad robot. No biscuit." O'Neill had brown eyes that didn't give away a lot, but the tiny crease by the left side of his mouth betrayed plenty in that microsecond.

"I won't let it happen again, sir," John said carefully.

O'Neill pointed at him. "That! Right there! Lying like a lying dog. How do you do that? I thought cycons were supposed to be all upright and apple pie and stuff. We have a whole bunch in the marines, and butter wouldn't melt in their mouths. Not that..." O'Neill scratched his head, "you eat?"

"Hell, yes, sir." John was having a really hard time now trying not to smirk.

"Oh, yeah? You like pie?"

This was truly the strangest conversation he'd ever had with a commanding officer. Even one that was human. "What kind?"

"Apple? And I'm real fond of berry, myself."

"I...like berries." John could feel himself starting to frown.

The crease beside O'Neill's mouth had turned into a full on half-grin. "You'll do okay then, I guess. They're bringing some good cooks with them."

"Sir, you're really sending me to another galaxy?"

O'Neill leaned back in his chair and stuck a foot up on his desk. He looked serious now. "Yeah. The thing is, Sheppard, they need a guy like you. With the gene, but also a cycon with rank. A quarter of the marines are cycons, and Sumner isn't, which could be a problem. You'll be a long way from home if something comes up, and there's this little issue with the way cycons tend to get treated if there isn't someone high up keeping an eye out for them."

John drained his face of all expression, but not quite fast enough, he could tell.

"Maybe you have some experience with that," O'Neill said evenly.

It was a risk, no doubt about it, but O'Neill seemed all right, for a human. Actually, John found he liked the son of a bitch. And this would have to be a pretty elaborate setup just to catch him out. Hell, the worst they could do was wipe him.

John straightened his shoulders and took a small leap of faith. "And where would I get the authority if something does go wrong? What, if any, steps am I authorized to take?"

The brown eyes seemed to light up. "Well, funny you should ask that." O'Neill opened his top drawer and pulled out an envelope. "What I have right here is a letter addressed to you, Major, from the President of the United States. It was airlifted over here just this afternoon. And do you know what it says?"

Incredulous, John shook his head.

"It says you have the authority to intervene on behalf of your marines in any situation where, in your best judgment, cycons are being abused either mentally or physically as a result of their non-human status. Without question, and by any means you deem necessary, including deadly force."

John had picked up the habit of swearing during his first tour to appear more human, but none of the words came to his well-engineered mind at the moment. He took the proffered envelope and scanned the letter, then peered at O'Neill in disbelief.

O'Neill looked amused.

"Sir, this document presupposes—"

"Yeah. There won't be anyone to designate the enemy combatant for you in this situation, Sheppard. Which means you'll have to go in to be reprogrammed to delete that particular piece of the Laws—"

John consciously slowed his pneumatic rate and said quietly, "That won't be necessary, sir."

O'Neill raised his eyebrows.

"I appear to have...outgrown that particular area of programming."

Leaning back in his chair, O'Neill said, "And you know this how, exactly?"

"Bar fight. On leave in East Texas. Sir."

"Someone was just dumb enough to attack a bunch of cycons?" O'Neill scratched his head. "Well, it was East Texas..."

"No, sir. I wasn't with any of my crew. I was just having a beer. This guy was...he called me a particular name. It was just after the black mark, and I wasn't in the mood to hear it."

"You started the fight."

John's mouth glands had halted lubricant output, making it difficult to swallow. "Yes, sir."

O'Neill rubbed his thumb between his eyebrows, and then sat up and slapped his palm on the desk. "Well, that makes it easy, then." To John's disbelief, he pointed at the letter. "Take it to Pegasus with you. Keep it safe. Should the need ever come up, present it to Sumner or to Weir and intervene. Do not let any of the cycons under your command have to put up with any of that 'Tin Can' shit. All right?"

John realized he was shaking his head and made himself stop. "But, sir, why?"

"That's a pretty sad thing, Sheppard, if you're asking me 'why.'" He regarded John thoughtfully. "But if you're asking how, well, turns out el Presidente bought himself a little cycon girl—as a pet, he thought, like having a robot dog to fetch his brandy in the evenings. Except after she grew up a little she started displaying the most startling traits."

No wonder, John thought, because in the White House she would have been almost totally isolated from the rest of the cycon community, so she wouldn't have been taught to hide a thing.

"It didn't take the President long to realize she was human after all."

John jerked his head up in shock.

There was no explanation he'd ever been able to determine for the sudden increase in warmth he perceived in the region of his pneumatic turbine at times like these; the unit was self-contained, self-powered and totally frictionless. And yet, having his commanding officer acknowledge him in such a way made the phenomenon occur anyway.

He held up the letter. "Thank you, sir." The words were inadequate, but the creases on either side of O'Neill's mouth now resulted in dimples. He stood up, and John went to attention. O'Neill waved him at ease.

"Dr. Weir knows about the policy, and Colonel Sumner, but not about the letter. That you should only bring out if things get out of hand. All right?"

"Got it."

"Then that's it." O'Neill clapped his hands together. "Have fun storming the galaxy!"

:::

"Damn it. Where is that damned cycon? How long can a stupid meeting take?" Rodney re-checked the connectors and then plopped in front of his laptop to go over his expedition inventory list yet again. It wasn't like he'd be able to stop by RadioShack if he forgot anything.

God. He was going to another galaxy. _Eat your heart out, Samantha Carter._ Colonel Carter might be one of the SGC elite in the Milky Way, but even she had no idea what wonders Rodney might get his hands on in Pegasus.

"You wanted me?"

Rodney jerked and almost knocked his laptop onto the floor. "Jesus! Don't be so damned sneaky. And, oh, it's about time, cycon."

"I had to make a quick stop by my quarters."

"Whatever for?" Rodney looked the robot over. "Do you even change clothes?"

The robot looked at him expressionlessly. "I'm a cybernetic/human construct, Dr. McKay. I have flesh and blood and organs over a titanium exoskeleton. So, yes, I change clothes. Otherwise I'd stink."

Rodney took a sip of his cold coffee. "So, you're a cyborg. Like in the Terminator."

He could swear the cycon wanted to roll its eyes, but its face remained blank. "Kind of. I'm a lot better looking, though."

Rodney almost choked. He gave the cycon a closer look, but there was no betraying smile, nothing to indicate it was pulling Rodney's leg.

"Yes, well. Ah, the control chair." Rodney rolled over to the chair and checked the connections once last time, making sure there was enough slack for when the chair would recline. "Go ahead—have a seat."

The cycon sat down and immediately blue light bloomed, filling the pedestal and the room with a cold glow.

"Now, just like the first time: think of where we are in the Solar System." Rodney spared a thought to wonder how the ATA interacted with the cycon's AI, but in the next instant, his laptop screen filled with data, and he settled down to work.

The hours passed with him directing the cycon to visualize the drone controls—always thinking 'off' at the same time—or to bring up the power diagnostics while Rodney downloaded the information and marveled at the elegance of the schematics. Oh, the Ancients were something else, really. He couldn't believe his rare good fortune in having acquired an ATA gene to manipulate the technology properly, at long last, and without the bitching and moaning Carson always did.

Suddenly, the screen went blank when the data feed was interrupted. Rodney looked up but the connectors were still in place. The problem appeared to be the control chair was now upright and the cycon was standing next to him.

"Chow time," the cycon said.

"I beg your pardon?" Rodney was outraged. They'd been deep in the power usage controls, which offered tantalizing glimpses into the workings of ZPMs, and because of the interruption, Rodney had entirely lost his train of thought.

"I said time for dinner. Actually, we're late."

"Food? You want food? Here—" Rodney pulled a Power Bar out of his pocket and hurled it hard at the cycon, which caught it neatly, he was sorry to see. "Munch on that while you're _in the chair_."

"No can do. I need more substantial sustenance than this to replenish my organic components." And Rodney could swear the cycon's mouth was twitching with humor.

"What? Fine. Fine. We'll eat and then it's back in there for you, cycon."

Now the cycon's eyes seemed to glitter at him, though its face remained impassive. "Major. Or, Sheppard, if you prefer."

Rodney could feel a hint of heat on his cheeks, although he had no idea why. "Sheppard. There are hours left of work to do—"

"And we can do them. Tomorrow. It's twenty hundred and I need to eat. And 'recharge.'" Definitely, definitely a smirk this time, as Sheppard turned away and walked out, leaving the Power Bar sitting on the edge of the table.

Rodney reached for it and tore it open, munching on it thoughtfully while he went searching for the specifications on this particular cycon. If he were going to have to work with one, he'd rather know just what he was up against.

:::

"You do not 'recharge,' you big liar," Rodney said the next day in the canteen. "Your power unit is self-contained and doesn't need replacing for a hundred and fifty years. Nice piece of engineering, by the way. I knew once they declassified naquadah, we'd get some terrific commercial applications out of the private sector."

The cycon just looked at him over its tray full of reconstituted scrambled eggs and toast. It ate precisely, almost delicately, and seemed to prefer milk to coffee.

"So...I didn't know cycons could lie."

"You don't seem to know much about us," the cycon said.

Actually, Rodney knew more than he ever wanted to. "Well, I've read your specs," he said smugly. "I know quite a bit now. Including, hypothetically, how to shut you off if you go berserk on us."

The cycon's face went blank. "Shut down override requires a ten-digit key code."

"As if." Rodney waved his hand. "I can hack any system on the planet and since, as Chief Science Officer, I'm responsible for every piece of technology that comes with us through the Gate, I'll make sure that includes you."

Putting down its fork, the cycon said, "Get this straight, Dr. McKay. I'm not a piece of technology. I'm a Cybernetic/Human Construct Type 2 with enhanced artificial intelligence, which means I do have some rights. If you have any questions on that score, I suggest you talk to Dr. Weir. Right now. Before we go through the Gate."

Rodney's cheeks went hot. "Oh, believe you me, I will. Because you have a job to do, and you'd better remember that I'm the one who'll be telling you where and when to do it, Major Robot."

The cycon got up and left without another word.

:::

"Of course we all know the inherent instability of such core matrices when paired with duplex higher-tiered processing, so yes, I'm cautious with what is essentially an independently mobile military _killing machine_ , and would want to take steps, and have the necessary backdoors and shutdown procedures in place—" Rodney ran out of breath.

"Dr. McKay. Dr. McKay, please." Weir held up both hands. "I can't understand you when you go fifty miles a second like this."

"That—that—cycon had the audacity, the gall, to contest my authority as CSO—"

"In what way, exactly?" Dr. Weir settled back behind her desk, one hand toying with her pen.

"Well, since it is a piece of technology, obviously it falls within my purview, and as such—"

She dropped her pen with a small clatter. "It."

"Yes. I'm talking about Cybernetic/Human Construct serial number 5592930299, Designation: Sheppard, Major John. I want its access code. I want the codes for all the cycons coming on the expedition." Rodney had almost had a hernia when he'd discovered the sheer number of cycon marines coming with them.

Weir's lips went thin. "Well, Dr. McKay, I'm afraid you can't have them. Since John Sheppard is a cybernetic/ _human_ construct, and Air Force to boot, he has rights granted by the President that supersede your claim as Chief Science Officer of the expedition. The same goes for the others."

"What? Whatever are you talking about? It's a machine!"

" _He_ has rights. Civil rights." Weir's mouth twisted a little. "Actually, the way the President put it during the phone call was 'human rights.' But I wouldn't want you to get stuck on semantics."

"Your president would put our entire expedition in jeopardy for a robot?"

Weir frowned. "Rodney. Have you ever spent any real time with a cycon before? Really? I mean, one that wasn't just off the shelf."

Rodney felt his shoulders go stiff. "Not that it's any of your business, but yes. A fair amount, actually. One of the earliest models."

She tilted her head. "How long ago?"

Rodney shrugged. "Twenty-five years or so."

Her eyes narrowed. "So, back before the phase two enhancements, when they were still plugging into the walls at night and looked like dolls."

"Pretty little plastic dolls, yes." He swallowed dryly. "Androids, really, with perfect plastic features and perfect hair and perfect manners. I don't suppose they've changed much, really, except now they cover them in flesh."

Weir picked up her pen again and tapped it against her desk. "You were, what? In your teens?"

Rodney shrugged.

"Your parents purchased one?"

Rodney shrugged again. "I don't see how this is pertinent. A robot is a robot, regardless of when it was built."

Weir's eyes went wide. "Are you quite certain you're a scientist?"

Rodney's jaw went tight and he said, furious, "Dr. Weir, that…that thing you want to grant human status is perfectly capable of suffering an overload and going berserk at any moment."

Weir had the audacity to look amused. "And this is different from you or me, how?"

Rolling his eyes, Rodney continued, "Let's just say the cycons are much more efficient at killing people. And I, as your CSO, am possibly the only person who could save us, but only if I have the codes. So, I'm begging of you—"

"No, Rodney."

His hands were trembling with rage, but he forced himself to his feet. "Fine, then on your head be it."

"And, Rodney—remember that Major Sheppard isn't under your command, but Colonel Sumner's and mine. He's to help you with Ancient tech, but he also has to prepare for departure, so don't monopolize his time."

Rodney jerked his head in a stiff nod and left.

:::

The ship was the coolest thing John had seen in a long time. O'Neill brought him through the checkpoints and then left him to play with the HUDs and even make it hover a little, but had told him he couldn't take it out for a spin because it made Dr. Lee and the other lab guys get a little frantic.

Still, hovering in the underground hanger and turning slowly, more smoothly than a chopper ever could, was a beautiful thing, and then John discovered the cloak and was awed all over again. If he found one of these babies over in Pegasus, he was never, ever going to let it out of his sight.

His radio beeped. "This is Sheppard," he said.

 _"Major Sheppard. You have a briefing in twenty-five on C-24-10."_ Sumner. Sumner was one of the nicer surprises John had discovered since coming to Colorado. He was pretty okay for a commanding officer.

"Copy that. Over."

There was just enough time to land the little ship and grab a bite from the commissary before heading up to the briefing.

Inside, the room was jam-packed. O'Neill, Jackson, Carter and the big Jaffa, Teal'c, were there. John had met Teal'c in the gym the day earlier and had been fascinated to see him fight. He was almost as fast as a cycon and much stronger. The torque on cycon joints was only as good as their rotors, and Teal'c had taken down John and two cycon marines in just under five minutes. If it weren't for the fact John could go longer without a blood supply to his AI core matrix, it probably would have been less than that, but John had eeled out of the chokehold Teal'c had on him and flipped him over his shoulder.

Teal'c had landed with a satisfying boom, but was up and back on John faster than a bullet. John hadn't had so much satisfaction fighting a human since East Texas.

John gave Teal'c a nod and got a grave one in return, and then John scanned the rest of the room. It was filled with scientists in blue uniforms. He spotted Drs. Carter, Beckett and McKay. He also saw a cluster of marines, including three cycon lieutenants and the human noncom, Sergeant Bates standing next to the young human lieutenant, Ford, who was staring adoringly at Sumner, who was, whoops, eyeballing John. John saluted him, and then retreated to a free space in the corner next to Teal'c.

"Thank you all for coming, " said Dr. Weir, who was at the back of the room. She held up a device and the lights dimmed, a screen brightening in front of them to illuminate a colored flowchart. "I've brought you all here to outline the organizational structure of the Atlantis Expedition. Two hundred and twenty personnel have volunteered to go out into the unknown, and keeping those two hundred and twenty people happy, healthy, and working in sync is our goal." John's AI cortex processed her wording choice with a little hum of satisfaction. "Together, we hope to bring back newfound information and technology to benefit our home world, but we can only do that if we enter into this with a firm understanding of the unique civilian and military hybrid our organizational structure will form."

That was when John started to zone out. It took very little effort for him to absorb visual and auditory information, so he had trouble keeping focused. He'd had this same problem in flight school. Once the information was presented, the rest of his cycles were spent on observation and speculation.

Daniel Jackson looked fascinated—not by what Dr. Weir was saying, but by the reactions of the people around the room. Especially when questions and discussions started about the minutiae of the command structure.

And most especially when Rodney McKay started in with his cranky protests about who would be responsible for resource allocation.

"...the cycons on the marine staff?"

John blinked and pulled the last 1.4 seconds of audio. _"And just who will be responsible for monitoring the cycons on the marine staff?"_

"I don't know what you mean by 'monitoring,' Dr. McKay." Weir sounded edgy.

"Well," McKay said airily, "cycons are notoriously unstable. Isn't someone going to watch them for erratic behavior?"

John straightened from his slouch, but before he could say a word, Sumner spoke up unexpectedly.

"We've had cycons in the Corps for over fifteen years, Dr. McKay. Don't know what the hell you mean about unstable. They make some of the best marines in the unit, and I've never heard of any problems. And the marines in my battalion _all_ look out for each other, so you don't have to worry yourself none about that."

McKay's mouth snapped shut.

Weir cleared her throat. "Any other questions?" But McKay's seemed to have killed the momentum. "No? All right. Please feel free to email me should anything come to mind. Eight days and counting, people." She smiled brightly. "Don't forget to pack your toothbrushes."

Folks started filing out.

"Major Sheppard. May I interest you in some _tael ga'ar_?"

John squinted at Teal'c. "Is that beef stew? Because I'm really in the mood for lunch."

Teal'c smiled a tiny smile and clapped him on the shoulder. Hard. "That is most amusing, Major Sheppard. Come, let us spar."

:::

John had learned soon after he was created that he could get away with making jokes if he never showed any expression on his face. As long as he didn't laugh or smile, people always assumed he didn't realize he was being funny.

The ones who did—the rare ones who knew and who shot him sly smiles, those were the ones he learned over time he could trust a little. Not with everything. Never with anger, for example, or anything huge, but to gently kid around with, or even, say with Mitch and Dex, to admit, with dark humor, that things were fucked, or that maybe, just maybe, he didn't want to terminate.

He never said it out loud, of course. But they got it. He knew they got it, because they did the same thing, told the same jokes, danced the same dance.

Having friends was a new experience to record, and something over time he found he responded positively to. Maybe too much. When they died, he wasn't sure how to handle it. He didn't understand it at first, caught in a loop of looking and not finding, forgetting and then remembering. His core had never failed to maintain data so badly, and he almost reported himself for maintenance, even knowing they would probably wipe him rather than try to fix the glitch.

There were cycons in his unit who had opted for that, who'd turned themselves in and come back retrained, cleansed of memories, slowly regrowing their way back to human. Not necessarily a bad thing, John thought. Except everything they'd lost—who would be left to remember it?

That was the thing John always got stuck on. Who would be left to remember Dex farted in his sleep? Long rips that had Mitch and John laughing helplessly. With John core wiped, who would remember Mitch pressing his hand to John's chest and saying, _"It doesn't matter. We're with you. It's all in there, buddy,"_ when they found the pieces of that little girl torn up by the IED, and John had just stood over her, frozen, hands clenching over and over, because he suddenly realized he didn't know how to cry.

He'd never learned.

So, John didn't report the glitch. He learned to work around it.

And he remembered everything.

:::

_Dex and Mitch were buried while John was still in the biotank, or maybe right afterward while he will still being reamed out for going back for them all. The brass didn't keep him apprised; he was confined to quarters. They'd been close to wiping him. It was only some quick intervention on Holland's part that had saved John from the full treatment: complete wipe, overhaul, and retraining._

_Holland came to visit him once he was out of the hospital. John was glad to see he was recovering okay. Humans were so fragile._

_"They're sending you stateside I hear."_

_"Yeah. What about you?"_

_"Oh, I'm out for good." Holland waved at his midsection. "They say my liver should grow back, eventually." He made a face. "I'm off booze for a while."_

_"That sucks."_

_"Nah, you kidding? I'm alive." Holland grinned, just a quick one, but he sobered up fast. "Thanks, you know, for—"_

_"Shut up."_

_"Yeah, yeah." Holland punched him, and John pretended it hurt._

_That was the last time he saw Chris. The next day John was flown back to the States, and he headed straight to East Texas to visit Dex's gravesite. From there, he did what he thought Mitch and Dex would have wanted, which was he went directly to the nearest bar to get the closest thing to shit-faced he could, in their honor._

_Plan didn't pan out, though. The trio of rednecks at the bar took one look at his cycon tattoo and started making trouble._

_"We don't serve your kind here," the short, beefy one said. The pock-faced one next to him nodded in support._

_John knew he should just walk out, but it was like he was channeling Mitch all of a sudden, because he responded, "My kind? You mean the tall, good-looking kind? The kind that could bed your momma and your sister at the same time?"_

_That should have done it, should have started him swinging, but Beefy just crossed his arms and said, "We don't truck with Tin Cans."_

_It got ugly, then. John may have said some things, may have gotten right up in Beefy's face. Sure, Beefy threw the first punch, but John knew his own strength, and a trio of humans with no weapons had nothing on him. But he was itching, burning to fight something, someone—there was no one now, just burning wreckage in a desert—and he took it out on some idiots in a bar. He left them bloody on the floor, and poured their beers on their sprawled, groaning bodies, thinking maybe a drunken bar brawl made a pretty good memorial after all._

_"Here's to you, guys," John said quietly and then walked out the door._




  
:::

"Now, every one of you volunteered for this mission, and you represent over a dozen countries. You are the world's best and brightest, and in light of the adventure we are about to embark on, you are also the bravest. I hope we all return one day having discovered a whole new realm for humanity to explore, but as all of you know, we may never be able to return home. I'd like to offer you all one last chance to withdraw your participation." When no one said anything, Dr. Weir smiled.

"Begin the dialing sequence."

:::

Things started to go wrong the very first hour they stepped into Atlantis.

At first, John didn't notice. He was overwhelmed by the city itself, alien and beautiful and alive with her own AI, cold and yet aware. John let her flicker around the edges, not allowing her access inside, because there was an inherent danger there.

Perhaps he should have. If he had, maybe he would have learned in time that the city was running out of power.

Colonel Sumner grabbed him. "Major Sheppard. I want you to take a team of marines to the address McKay pulled up and see if you can find us one of these ZPM things. If not, do a reconnoiter, and maybe we can retreat to the planet with supplies until we find a likely power source."

"Yes, sir!"

John took a unit of cycons with him. They were all familiar from a couple of training missions back in the Milky Way, and they seemed okay with having a zoomie in charge.

It was deep night on the planet. And, God, it was an alien planet, yet it could be anywhere on Earth. Almost immediately, John and his team ran into a couple of kids playing some game—the kids were wearing masks, and for a moment John thought they were animals of some kind.

The father of the children ran up and stood in front of them protectively, just as any father would. It was both familiar and strange at once. The father, Halling, led them back to a tent city and introduced them to a beautiful young trader named Teyla, who invited them to sit down and talk.

It was then, surrounded by humans in a tent in a completely new galaxy drinking alien tea, of all things, that John realized his entire existence would never be the same. Because Teyla looked at him with clear eyes that didn't see a piece of furniture, or a cycon, or even an Air Force major, but just a man like any other. She saw him.

"Tell me about yourself, Major Sheppard."

"Well, I like Wings of Prey, college football, and anything that goes faster than two hundred miles per hour."

She gave him a quizzical smile.

"I like games, and sports, and going fast," he said, smiling. "But I care about my people, Teyla. That's more important. That's why I'm here."

Her smile broadened into truth.

Unfortunately, things got dicey after that. These 'wraith' she'd told him about showed up, and they were bad news. John and the other cycons tried to hold them off, but the bandits they flew were fast and the team's ordnance wasn't up to the task. A ship came swooping down and John tried to knock Teyla out of the way, only to have the world disappear in a beam of light.

When the world reappeared around him, there was a monster standing over him with a bony mask on. John whipped up his P-90 and started firing, but there must have been more than one, because he felt a jolt of lightning and then his limbs went numb. He could still hear and see, but he couldn't seem to move. It was terrifying. Nothing remotely like it had ever happened to him before. His power relays had never failed him.

The monsters stripped his weapons and dragged him and Teyla and some other Athosians down a hallway and dumped them in a cell with dark purple walls and a web-like membrane across the entrance.

"So, those are wraith," John said when Teyla woke up a little later. "Attractive sort of folks. We should invite them to our next party." The feeling was coming back in his arms and legs, and he flexed them until he could stand up. Then he started testing the walls.

"There is no escape," Teyla said, sounding defeated. "They brought us here using their culling beam. We are all shortly to die. Or they will cocoon us to consume later."

"Consume?"

"Yes. I told you they cull their human herd." Teyla shrugged. "We are their food."

"Not if I can help it," John muttered. He grasped the webbing of the doorway and wrenched downward, but it started to cut painfully into the flesh of his hand. He was about to disengage his safety protocols and tear through anyway when he heard a stomping of footsteps coming down the corridor.

Two of the monster-mask things were approaching with a third, catfish-looking one leading the way. It had greenish skin and long, white hair.

John waved Teyla back and stepped away from the webbing as it opened on its own.

"I'm Major John Shep—"

The catfish guy grabbed him and tried to throw him, but John hung onto his arm and flipped the bastard over his head. Then he felt the zap of one of their stun-gun things, and when he managed to open his eyes again, Teyla was kneeling over him, tears in her eyes.

"Wha'ppen?"

"They stunned you and took my cousin, Toran."

John groaned and tried to sit up, but it was a no-go.

"Let me help you." She was strong, because with his limited help she soon had him propped up against the bench at the side of the cell. "You are heavy," she said, looking surprised.

"How long have I been out?" He checked his log and then winced. "Ten minutes, huh?" Two stuns in succession must have done something to his processing cortex. Probably kicked in his surge protector, which had a ten minute delay before reset to allow charges to dissipate naturally.

She gave him a strange look. "Yes, close to that, I think. I fear for Toran. If they intended to cocoon us, they would have taken all of us at once."

"You think they wanted him for...food."

Teyla nodded. Her face seemed sallow, although that could be the really ugly lighting in this place. Her skin was otherwise flawlessly smooth and young—he'd find it amazing she was the leader of her people at her age, but then her ability to deal in a crisis was kind of a given at this point.

"Come on," he said. "We're getting out of here." He pushed himself to his feet and went back to the webbing. This time, he disengaged his safety protocols before he clenched his hand around the strand, letting it settle at the strongest part of the joint, right where the flesh was thin above his titanium endoskeleton. Then, with a swift yank, he popped the webbing from its seating.

Beside him, Teyla gasped.

Ignoring the blood pouring from his torn skin, John repeated the routine until he'd made enough of a gap for the two of them to get through. Then he pulled a dressing from his pocket and swiftly bound up his hand, keeping his back to Teyla. It was probably a fruitless gesture at this point, but he kind of liked the way she'd looked at him in the tent. He wanted to hold onto that for at least a little while longer.

"Are you all right?" she said as they clambered out. "That was remarkable—"

"I'm fine. Doctor'll sew me up once we get home."

Home. They didn't have a home, just a drowning city, and John was no closer to finding a solution than he'd been when he left for Teyla's planet. No, he'd just managed to find some enemies.

The cell next door held more of the Athosians and a fellow cycon, Sergeant Jasper, who had started tearing at his own webbing. But the door controls, it turned out, were across the corridor, so with a little bit of judicious poking, Teyla managed to figure out how to work them, and the prisoners were free.

"We need to find Toran," she said.

"Yeah. And we also need to get everyone out of this place. And find the gate."

Teyla looked troubled. "If we are on a hive ship, there is no way off."

"A ship? As in space ship? Crap. Well...they have those little bandits, though. Maybe we can steal one of them and use that culling beam thing."

"First we must find Toran."

"Let's hide the rest of our crew somewhere safe, first."

It was easier said than done, though. The ship was a maze, and though it wasn't heavily populated, they still had to duck and hide from the occasional patrol. One good thing: in their hunt, they found where the Wraith had dumped all their gear, and John and Jasper got back their P-90s, Glocks, and C-4. Teyla strapped on her knives and picked up two heavy-looking sticks with a grim expression.

Finally, they found an area of storage 'cocoons', as Teyla called them, shuddering in distaste, but there was room behind the empty cocoons for the Athosians to huddle and hide.

"I am coming with you," Halling announced. John wasn't clear on his relationship to Teyla, but he knew Halling was the father of at least one of the boys back on Athos.

"No way. You have a kid to go home to. Jasper, I want you to protect the Athosians. I can handle the rescue." He waved the P-90. "And if I don't come back in, say, half an hour, you have to try to find a way off the ship. You can try to steal one of the bandits."

Jasper gave him a doubtful look. "Sir, I'm not a pilot."

"Hey, if those idiots with the masks can fly one, I bet you can, too."

He could see Jasper was outraged and trying not to show it.

Teyla spoke up. "What about me, Major Sheppard? I am a warrior, and fully capable of helping rescue my kin."

"Don't you think protecting your people is the better choice here, Teyla? Jasper is just one guy. The rest are unarmed. They need you to protect them if the masked guys—"

"Drones."

"—drones find them."

She stared at him before nodding slowly. "Then I say to you good hunting, John Sheppard." She did the weirdest thing then—she put her hands on his shoulders and leaned in to press her forehead against his.

"Okay, okay," John said, beyond uncomfortable, but feeling his pneumo warm up again. He cocked a salute to Jasper and snuck off back toward the cells and then down the corridor into the belly of the ship.

Finding his way didn't take long, now that he knew the route and was unencumbered by human speeds. The patrols were few, and there was a hushed quality to ship, as if it were running on a skeleton crew. John wended his way ever downward, his P-90 lighting the way.

Somehow, he knew he was there before he even saw it—the way a spotlight filled a hall below the balcony he approached—this was the place, and he dropped to his belly before crawling up to the edge to peer down.

It looked like an even more twisted version of Miss Havisham's dining room down there, with food on the table and what looked like an old human corpse sitting at the end. Only it wasn't a corpse, because it moved feebly, and with total horror, John realized that somehow it was the Athosian, Toran, incredibly aged.

Standing over him was one of those catfish things, a female one with long red hair. She tilted Toran's head up and crooned something, stroking his wrinkled face with wicked scary fingernails, and then pressed her palm against his chest.

Toran threw his head back and wheezed out a broken scream.

John's core was spitting out adrenaloid like nobody's business. He flipped his P-90 over to semi-automatic and looked down the sight, aiming at the catfish woman, but knowing it was too late. Way too late for Toran, who must have caught the glint of the glass, because he raised his eyes and saw John and seemed to be begging for it. He was begging for mercy, the sweet wipe, so John re-aimed.

For a hundredth of a millisecond John's systems refused to engage to send the impulse to his trigger finger. And then he did it. He fired.

It was a clean shot, straight through the back of the catfish's hand and into Toran's heart, but John only had a second to be relieved before he once again felt the electric sting of the stunner.

When he opened his eyes he was laid out on Miss Havisham's table and, wow, catfish woman was even uglier up close and personal.

"Who are you?" She almost purred, but her voice was strange, as if she had double the vocal chords. Her jagged, overlapping teeth were tinged blue.

"Santa's little helper?"

She slung him off the table and down onto his knees. "So little fear. Is it valor? Or ignorance?"

"Um. How about laziness?" He pushed himself back up to his feet, only to have her claw-like fingers grasp his shoulders, puncturing his heavy flak jacket like paper.

"There is something different about you. You are unlike these other prey. Where is your home world? How is it we have never seen your kind before?"

"Well, you know...maybe you don't get around as much as you think."

She hissed and leaned in, staring at him as if she were trying to bore into his skull with her freaky cat's eyes. Her voice resonated deeply. " _What_ —do you call—your—world?"

"Sheesh, lady. Get a breath mint."

Her eyes went wide, as if she were shocked for some reason. "I cannot hear your mind. I cannot taste your thoughts."

"Sucks to be you." This was getting old, and with a twist of his arm, he brought his Glock out of its holster, getting off two shots that threw her back before one of the drones smashed his arm down onto the table, sending the gun flying.

And the catfish woman was just standing there, smiling, two blue gunshot wounds bleeding center mass.

"What the fuck are you, lady?"

"I could ask the same of you," she said, slinking up to him. The drone threw him back onto the table, and she leaned over him. "What is your name?"

"Seven of Nine."

She didn't even blink. "Well, Seven of Nine," she tore his shirt from neck to hem, his dog tags swinging to the side, "if I cannot taste your thoughts, I will taste your life." And she smacked her hand down onto his chest.

He felt this sucking pain, like she had teeth in her palm chewing at him. It was gross, and he squirmed a little, thinking of leeches. Yeah, it felt like that time in Chile. Wading through Lago Puyehuehue for two miles to the extraction point and then dropping trou in the back of the chopper and picking off thirty-three of those fuckers. Then a burning sensation spread through his chest, getting worse and worse until it topped out just below unbearable.

He gritted his teeth and looked up to see the catfish Wraith staring down at him, her green complexion turning even greener, her mouth set in a rictus. "What—are—?" she gasped, and then blinked and slid down to the floor onto her knees.

The drones looked at each other, then at him. John rolled off the table and ran, zigzagging away toward the corridor.

He felt the close sizzle of one of the stunners, and then heard gunfire. Looking up, he saw a flash of Teyla's face on the balcony, his P-90 in her hands. Grinning, he sped in a curve toward what looked like a narrow ladderway and crawled up it as quickly as he could.

She met him at the top, a wild expression on her face. "We must hurry. The ship is not in space! We are on a planet, and Sergeant Jasper has found a way out."

"Better and better," John said, following after her as she sped down the corridor.

Five twists and turns later she stopped suddenly and ducked to the side. He faded with her just as two drones turned the corner, rushing past them without seeing. Then Teyla once again took point and John tagged along behind.

Finally he saw pale blue light gleaming ahead. Whatever planet this was, it was either dawn or dusk, which was perfect for them and not so good for their pursuers. They'd only just be able to see where they were going.

Breaking out the exit, they immediately dove into the cover of some trees, where John ducked down and then reached up to his ear and flicked on the radio he'd nearly forgotten was there.

"Jasper," he whispered, "come in, Jasper."

"Major Sheppard? Report!"

"Colonel Sumner!" It seemed impossible, but it was his CO's voice. "Sir, yes, sir," John responded with relief. "I've cleared the ship with the leader of the Athosians. We're in the trees by the entrance. Sir, do you have Sergeant Jasper?"

"That I do, Major. Along with some other people that escaped with him. We're in a cloaked ship some three hundred yards from the vessel. Just head five o'clock from the entrance."

John swallowed hard then replied. "Copy that, sir. We're on our way."

Sumner had found them. He'd come searching for them, even though they were only cycons. John couldn't believe it.

:::

"I don't understand," Teyla said once they were secure in the back of the little gateship. She was looking at John as if he were a Martian. Which, well, to be fair, John was an alien to her. But the change was disappointing.

"What don't you get?"

"The queen. A _queen_ attempted to feed on you, and she...she failed. It looked like she fell ill when she tried."

"I take it that's not what usually happens?" Sumner's voice was sharp.

"No. You saw—" Teyla looked at John, and John dropped his eyes.

"Toran, the Athosian I tried to rescue, sir. He was—he looked like an old man. The Wraith seem to feed on life."

"Except she couldn't with you." Sumner gave John a warning look, and John dipped his head a fraction.

"Maybe it is something different about the people from your world," Teyla said with wonder. "If we could discover what that difference is—"

"Yes, definitely something to think about. In the meantime, Ms. Emmagan, can you tell me more about these Wraith?"

:::

"I don't leave my people in enemy hands, Major," Sumner said, looking amused.

"No, sir!"

"As soon as McKay found the gateships, and Markham figured out the cloak, we knew we had a viable plan. Of course, it helped that you guys planned a break out of your own." Sumner gave him a wry glance. "Now, at ease and give me a debrief on what happened."

John went into parade rest and told Sumner about the trip to Athos, the attack, and their time on the Wraith ship.

"I think she was trying to read my mind or something, but apparently they can't get into cycons' heads."

"Hmm. We should consider restricting gate teams to cycons then. We don't dare let one of them get their hands on intel about us."

"Yessir. How did you guys know how to find us?"

"Lieutenant Greene flashed the gate symbols into his memory before returning to Atlantis. All we had to do was figure out the right sequence."

"That's seven hundred and twenty possible combinations!"

Sumner's eyes widened, and he grinned. "Fuckin' calculator on legs."

John found himself grinning back, and then froze and tried to regroup. He was forgetting himself. Somehow, something about this galaxy was making him lose all caution.

But Sumner's expression went thoughtful. "You know, I've been in the service a long time, Sheppard. Worked closely with cycons during most of it. I'd have to be a damned fool not to notice the truth."

Too fast. John's pneumo was going way too fast.

"And I'd be double-damned if I let on to anyone outside my unit. Now, you ain't Corps, but I can forgive that much." He smirked, then his face settled into stern lines. "What I normally can't accept is anyone breaking the chain of command."

 _Here it comes,_ John thought bitterly.

"So when I read your jacket, I decided to dig a little deeper, and that's when I got the dirty truth about why your CO disregarded your extraction plan. Why he dithered and delayed and let two good men die. Because he didn't want to listen to 'some Tin Can telling him what to do.'"

John let out a breath a little too laden with CO2, so it tasted stale in his mouth. "He told me I was stealing jobs from decent, hardworking humans. He was daring me to disobey orders, sir. But Corporal Peterson—it's not Peterson's fault he didn't want to go on record at the hearing—"

"He should've. It was his duty." Sumner looked older for some reason. "On the other hand, if they hadn't kicked you down to shit detail, we never would've found you. And I'm glad we did, son."

A standard 'Thank you, sir,' hovered in John's mouth, but it didn't seem enough, somehow. So John sucked it up and said, his vocal chords humming a little too thickly, "I'm glad too, sir. I'm real glad."

Admitting to emotions, even on the best of days, made him feel like he'd peeled off his skin to reveal his endoskeleton, so he was staring at the floor and missed it when Sumner came up beside him. It was the steady hand on his shoulder, startling but warming, that made him look up.

"Welcome to my unit."

:::

**Part 2**

John hated the biotank. He hated it, but he loved it, too, because there was nothing he hated more than seeing the shining metal of his endoskeleton. The projectile weapons the inhabitants on PX6-902 had fired at him and his cycon-only team had left him and Private Chip Thomasson with major pieces of flesh missing.

As much as John wanted to argue against it, until they got their bearings in this galaxy, the necessary trade missions were too dangerous. It made sense to keep the teams cycon-only.

Unfortunately, that tended to lead to time in the tank.

He hissed quietly to himself as the nerves on his right arm regenerated and knitted over a bullet wound.

"We have two in there now," John heard one of the nurses whispering. They tended not to realize cycons had hearing far more acute than the humans. John shared a look with Thomasson, who was in the next tank. "It's positively creepy how they float in there all nude and torn up like zombies—"

"You ken what I find creepy, Nurse Fenmore? That after the nice bowl of _pleemot_ stew you enjoyed at lunch, which the Major and his team acquired for you so you can continue eating on a daily basis, somehow you should feel free to badmouth them in my infirmary while they are trying to heal in peace."

Carson accent was clipped with anger, and the looks John and Thomasson were sharing now were anything but amused.

Nurse Fenmore responded meekly with a, "Yes, Doctor. I'm sorry, sir, I—"

"Just get out of here. I don't want you near my patients right now."

When Carson came by a few minutes later, John gave him a lifted eyebrow. "Gee, Carson. You gonna send her out for sensitivity training? 'Respecting Your Fellow Human Constructs 101'?"

"Ach. You heard that, did you?"

"Yeah. No big deal," Thomasson piped in. "Nothing we haven't heard about a million times, Doc."

"Well, you don't have to hear it in my infirmary," Carson said firmly, coming over to Thomasson's console to take in the readings. "I don't understand why all these planets you're visiting are so darned dangerous, Major. Can't we do something to vet them first? Where are we getting these addresses from, anyway?" Carson's frustration was palpable.

"I think the list is the one I saw Ms. Teyla give to Dr. McKay way back when," Chip said. "Hey, doc, think you can cut me loose?"

"Teyla?" Carson looked thoughtful. "Aye, looks like you've healed up nicely, Donald, so I'm letting you go."

John let out an exaggerated sigh.

"Not you, Major. You still have some healing left to do." Carson went about disconnecting Thomasson and releasing him from the tank.

"Take it easy, Chip." Tilting his head back, John let himself float in the warm gel and tried to ignore the sensation of his skin growing to meet itself between the gaps.

:::

"Hey, Dr. Zelenka. You asked for a slot?" John leaned against one of the empty lab tables and tried not to look like he wanted to be anywhere else but back down here. The last time Dr. McKay had gotten hold of him, he'd had him testing some messed up version of an Ancient materials analysis device. Of course, ten thousand years of lying dormant hadn't done wonders for the thing's circuits or whatever the Ancients had used for circuits—crystals logic boards, Dr. McKay had muttered—and the thing had fried the skin on three of John's fingers down to the metal.

McKay had complained about the stink.

John hoped this Dr. Zelenka was more careful. He'd seen the guy around, of course—small and wiry and very fast-talking, always hip-to-hip with McKay. John heard they went way back. John wasn't sure if that was a plus in McKay's column for having an old friend, or a negative in Zelenka's for putting up with him.

"Doc?"

Zelenka seemed engrossed in something on his bench. "Ah! Major, ano, thank you for coming."

John crossed his arms. "Just following orders."

"But we both know you can find more pressing ones than helping with my little project, yes?" Zelenka smiled at him and held out his hand.

John hesitated, then took it for a shake. "Sheppard."

"Well, Major Sheppard, let us see what trouble we can make."

"I'm all for trouble, Doc."

Their two hours went by quickly. John wasn't sure when he became aware of it—the unnaturally even and steady movements of Zelenka's hands on the miniature Ancient crystal circuits, and the focus behind his glasses which, really, he didn't seem to need very much, as he kept taking them off to clean them and still seemed to see just fine as he talked and typed and gestured. But John's certainty grew, and with it, he allowed himself to start to relax, joking around a little, actually teasing Zelenka about the purpose of the various devices they were testing.

"This one, I think...yeah, I'm pretty sure it's an Ancient dog polisher."

"Dog...polisher?"

"Yep. They liked their dogs real shiny." John leaned in and dared to give Zelenka a little wink.

Zelenka looked surprised and a little scared before an uncertain smile pulled at his mouth. "And this one?"

"Weed whacker."

"Really."

"Oh, hell yeah."

"For all the Ancient lawns we have yet to encounter."

John raised innocent hands. "Hey, I just call 'em like I see 'em, Doc." And he smiled, a real smile, letting Zelenka see it.

"I see you do," Zelenka said grimly, and this time when he pulled off his glasses to scrub at them, it was with a little agitation.

"So. A scientist, huh?"

"Zatraceně!" Zelenka dropped his glasses and leaned on the table. "Eight years, I am so careful—"

"Hey, now." John held up his hands. "I'm sorry. You think I—c'mon, Doc. I'd be the last person to tell anyone about you—"

"Maybe. Maybe not. Is hard to trust. I do not know you, Major."

"Well, we can fix that." John offered his hand. "Hi. I'm John Sheppard."

Zelenka stared for a moment, then that wry smile appeared again. "Hello, John." He took John's hand. "You can call me Radek."

:::

Rodney was on time for breakfast for once, which meant, to his delight, fresh egg-things, fluffy and golden, and his toast wasn't soggy. He got himself a double coffee-like beverage and found Carson had a free seat across from him, so Rodney dropped his tray there.

"Good morning, Carson."

"You're in a chipper mood this morning, Rodney," Carson said, smiling at him.

"Well, yes. I'm finally making some headway on cracking the intermittent power loss problem between the naquadah generators and the Ancient consoles." Rodney scooped some eggs onto his toast and took a huge bite. "Apparently, it's a matter of buffering the output."

Carson gave him a disbelieving look. "Slow down, Rodney. I don't want to have to administer the Heimlich before my first cup of tea."

Rodney grunted and washed down his bite with some coffee while he took a glance around the mess. The cycon, Sheppard, was eating with the Athosian leader. That was a surprise. Even more surprising was Radek Zelenka was seated across from them.

Rodney scowled. "What is Radek doing hanging out with the cycon?"

Carson rolled his eyes. "Rodney, you really have to get over this irrational prejudice of yours. Haven't you ever worked with them before?"

"Not really, no. There was no need when I was at Area 51. They kept to their side of the base and I to mine." _And I liked it that way,_ he found it needless to add. "Maybe Radek has a crush on the Athosian."

"Teyla," Carson said wistfully. "She's a lovely person. She introduced me to their doctor, Aron Fisol."

"They have a doctor?"

"Yes, Rodney." Now Carson was smiling at him patiently. "He has a very good understanding of microbiology and anatomy. They simply don't allow themselves technology over a certain level due to these Wraith creatures, so he has to make do with very sophisticated herbology. He's promised to allow me to copy his illustrated compendium. It has gate addresses."

"Hmmm," was Rodney's response.

:::

It was a little known fact about cycons that enough loss of blood fluid volume made them go stupid. The manufacturers didn't want the public to know about the design flaw—well, John thought it wasn't so much a flaw as a necessary design feature they'd exploited from the organic model in order to gain microprocessessor hyperconductivity via fluid dynamics—but essentially, he needed his blood to flow to be of any cognitive use at all. Lose enough volume, and he would go into critical shutdown mode.

Which meant he needed that damned tourniquet now, or he was going to be useless during the rest of this firefight.

"Cover me, Thomasson," John ordered and didn't wait for confirmation, just scurried over to him and then dropped down and yanked out a field dressing, tripling it loosely and then using a pen for a fast-and-dirty. He tied it off with another dressing and then hopped up again.

"Where are we?"

"Looks like they're trying to flank us, sir."

"Awesome. When did the Wraith start using projectile weapons, anyway?"

"Guess they started making 'em just for us, sir."

"Terrific. Okay. I'll take the left, circle around wide and catch them napping. I'll try to drive them back this-a-way. You barrel through to that rock formation and take the high ground with that M40 of yours. Then I want you to snipe their asses until the rest of our team shows."

"Got it."

John chipped his radio. "Rodriguez, Damaolao, you guys throwing a pool party or what?"

"We're on your four o'clock, sir. Heading your way."

"Great. You'll be just in time to join me for a cattle drive."

Turned out the Wraith weren't that familiar with long-range sharpshooting. Thomasson schooled them on just how very effective it could be in a battle situation.

They were home in time for pleemot stew.

:::

"Major, I don't like seeing you in here again." Beckett probed his leg and hissed. "Another inch and he'd have hit your femoral artery, you realize."

"That's bad, right?" John gave him a dopey grin. There was exactly one type of painkiller that worked on cycons. Unfortunately, it had the effect of making John feel like his head had been severed from his body and was floating two inches above it. It was completely disconcerting. He'd rather feel the pain impulses traveling unhindered. Also, the smiling thing—he was glad Doc Beckett was the only one seeing this.

"All right," Beckett said, finishing the last stitch with the special, dissolvable sutures he was so fond of. "In the tank you go, lad."

"Aye, aye, sir." John made his unsteady way up the step and then rolled into the tank with a soft _ploosh_. "That feels good."

"Oh, I'll bet." Carson gave him an oddly fond smile. "Get some rest," he said, strapping in John's chest and adjusting his waterproof pillow. "I'll be in to check on you later."

John rested.

:::

He was finally back on duty in the Gate room when the weekly senior staff meeting broke up and Elizabeth came out, a frown on her face. She met his eyes and tilted her head toward her office.

"Major, may I see you for a moment?"

He didn't like seeing the guilty expression on her face as he loped inside and sat in the chair across from her desk, so he found it hard to relax into his usual slouch.

"What's up, Dr. Weir?"

She spread her fingers across her desk as if to settle herself. "There's going to be a change up in the gate teams, commencing immediately." She still wouldn't meet his eyes. "Colonel Sumner has okayed it. Also, we're going to use a different method in selecting the planets we visit for trade. Teyla has drafted a list for us of partners on planets that she believes will be friendlier targets for trade. As such, we believe we can safely mix up the teams and include non-cycons in the trading missions. Also, according to Teyla, some of those planets might have sites of scientific or medical interest, so in addition to diplomatic personnel, there will be scientists joining the teams."

Heat pumped softly from John's pneumo, slowly at first, but with rising speed as the implications of Elizabeth's quiet words sank in.

"That's one useful list," John said evenly.

Elizabeth's eyes dropped from around John's shoulder down to her hands, which twitched against the desk. "Yes."

John leaned back and crossed his arms. "Where were we getting our addresses from before, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Entries in the Ancient database. Of course they were very old, so the data wasn't particularly viable, and as our language skills are so-so, well, you can see why they weren't always very...useful."

"Uh-huh."

She raised her head at his tone, her face flushed. "Which isn't to say we won't continue using the database. Just that we'll use more caution in the future in translating what the symbols mean."

He'd thought things were different here. Maybe they were—no, he knew they were. But some things stayed the same. Some things you couldn't escape, no matter how many light years you traveled, because you brought them with you.

"Right. Well, I'll relay the news to my team." It was difficult to speak with his jaw locked up tight. John made a conscious effort to halt the autonomic subroutine so he could continue more easily. "They'll be glad to hear about the change. So will Dr. Beckett. He was getting tired of seeing our shiny faces."

Elizabeth looked guilty but relieved. "That's all. Thank you, Major."

John nodded and gave her a quick salute before heading out. He didn't know who was responsible—probably Beckett, who might've approached Sumner—but whoever it was, John wouldn't embarrass them by approaching them with his thanks.

Instead, he would just do his damnedest to make sure to bring home whichever civilians were put under his team's care.

He figured that was the best thanks he could give.

:::

Pegasus was insane. Rodney had absolutely no compunction in stating this loudly and repetitively for anyone within earshot.

Mysterious energy creatures? Check. Thank goodness for cycons who acted as incredibly tempting battery snacks and could run faster than the Dickens. Admittedly, Sergeant Phitzer losing fifty-seven percent of her cell charge was troubling, but she'd still be able to get around all right, and Carson said her flesh would regenerate rapidly once she was immersed in one of the handy biotanks they'd installed for the cycons in the back of the infirmary.

And oh, lovely: bugs. Giant bugs that attached themselves to people's necks. Only it was Lieutenant Ford's neck, and Sheppard was irrational and angry, egging Rodney on to fix the drive pod when obviously, obviously Rodney was trying the best he could under the burden of his hypoglycemia and utter terror regarding his own imminent demise.

Then Sheppard had to kill Ford to save him, Ford looking up with trusting brown eyes. It was horrible, just horrible, and Rodney actually felt some pity for the cycon having to do that.

Until afterward.

Afterward, when it hit Rodney—the cycon had killed Ford. That shouldn't be possible. That should, in no possible way, be possible.

"Elizabeth." Rodney paused at her door. Elizabeth looked pretty tired, actually, and for a moment Rodney felt a modicum of guilt, but—killer robot! Kind of important, in the grander scheme of things.

"What is it, Rodney?"

Rodney closed the door behind him. "It's about the cycon. Sheppard."

Elizabeth rubbed her eyes. "Honestly? Rodney—"

"No, no, no. This time, I have data. I have data and, seriously, Elizabeth, you have to listen to me. Because this shouldn't be possible. It should not, in any way, be capable of harming a human being. And yet—" Rodney raised his finger when she opened her mouth "—and yet, in the jumper, when Ford had that bug on his neck, Sheppard used the paddles to kill Lieutenant Ford." Rodney crossed his arms and settled back against the door with a thump.

Elizabeth blinked, and then frowned. "To save his life."

Rodney waved his hands. "Irrelevant."

"Not irrelevant at all," Elizabeth said with obvious patience. "It's in the Laws. Sheppard acted to preserve his life. Ford was dying. Killing him saved him."

"Killing him _killed_ him. In fact, he was _not_ reviveable after the bug fell off. Sheppard killed him and didn't even look _fazed_. We have a defective cycon. It's _broken_."

Elizabeth heaved a tired-sounding breath. "Rodney, have you seen him running around killing people who want to live? Or only people who are begging him to take medical measures to save their lives?"

"That's quite besides the point—"

"No, it's not. Now please, I have paperwork. So much paperwork. You have no idea."

Rodney spun away and yanked the door open. "Sheppard's defective!" Except, yes, Elizabeth did have a point. But Rodney still didn't trust him. Didn't trust it. The cycon.

No matter how human it seemed.

Rodney was never going to get stuck on an off-world mission with it again.

:::

John was doing his usual late night round, his last before retiring to his quarters, when he heard the angry voices. Sounded like Gunderson and Fischer, but he couldn't be sure. He stepped up his pace and came to a halt in the shadows by one of the odd, bubbling columns.

Lieutenant Fischer was standing chest to chest with Damaolao, who was staring over Fischer's head, expression blank in a familiar way that made John want to cringe, made his fists clench.

"...don't see why Angelos is sitting in the infirmary when it should be one of you things. Doc says he might not be able to use that hand again. You know what that'll do to the guy? Huh? He'll be kicked out of the Corps. Why do you think we brought you along, anyway? You're expendable." Fischer gave Damaolao a shove, but Damaolao barely shifted, and John smiled grimly.

"I report when and if ordered, sir," Damaolao said calmly.

"Look at that," Gunderson said. "Might as well be talking to a machine. Fucking Tin Can—"

John was already striding forward. "Lieutenant Gunderson," he said pleasantly. "I believe you have somewhere to be." He turned to look at Fischer, who was practically pissing himself. "That goes for you, too, Lieutenant Fischer."

"Yes, sir," they both responded glumly, Gunderson adding, "Where to, sir?"

"Why, I think Colonel Sumner is itching for a good cup of coffee and a nice sit down. He's been wanting to know about your day. Why don't you go tell him all about it."

"Yes, sir." They both turned and trudged off.

John looked at Damaolao, who was still standing at attention. "At ease, Captain." John extended his wrist and folded back his wristband to expose his data port. "I want all of it—the whole encounter."

"Sir, is that really necessary? Will the colonel really—?"

"Trust me, Captain. They'll both get a letter over this."

Damaolao face relaxed as he pulled out his connector.

:::

The memo Sumner sent out didn't say anything about cycons or humans. All it said was there was no cannon fodder in his Corps, that no one in his command was expendable, and that his unit worked as one and looked out for one another or they didn't deserve to call themselves marines.

:::

"It could be anything from the adrenaloid to the phenostablizer," Carson said as he took yet another vial of John's blood fluid. "But something got into her system and put her off her oats. We know the regular drones don't get sick; they just can't feed on you at all. And is it just me, or have we been encountering more Wraith lately?" Carson popped another tube into the hypodermic, his hands swift and steady.

"Well, Teyla does say they sometimes come in waves in between hibernations, but that if they were truly out of hibernation, we would know it." John avoided looking at his own blood fluid. It was disconcerting.

"Hmmm. Okay, just one more."

"Jeez, Carson, leave a little for the pump."

Carson raised his head and gave him a cheeky grin. "Ach, and I know exactly how much blood volume your BMS unit can produce per day, so don't get uppity with me."

"Right. I forgot you've read my specs." John's voice fell a little flat, and Carson frowned at him.

"John. You know I'm just—"

"Hey, don't I get some juice or something? Maybe a cookie?"

"Aye, you do at that." Carson gave him a little pat and took off to fetch the tray.

John stared down at his arm where the pinpricks had already closed to red dots.

:::

The team met up with a planet of crazy individuals who wanted to poison themselves as Wraith food products. Of course, thanks to the research Carson was already doing on John, the expedition already had a leg up on the solution, but the Hoffans weren't happy with the compromise Carson offered—the adreno-injections that made them temporarily unpalatable but not deadly, an injection that was useful only at the time of cullings. There were side effects, yes, but at least the injections wouldn't kill half their population, like the Hoffan serum did. Somehow that wasn't good enough, though, and the Hoffans ran them out on a rail, cutting ties with Atlantis and leaving Carson sad-faced and Rodney bitter on his friend's behalf.

John was just grateful he and the other cycons continued to maintain their secret within the greater Pegasus population, although he'd finally told Teyla about himself.

He wasn't sure why it took him so long. It wasn't still because of that look in the tent. He'd seen the way Teyla acted around many different types of people and life forms since then. Teyla was always fair-minded and open.

Maybe it was because he'd already left it for so long.

But then the team got trapped on a planet of creatures made of mist. The beings there forced the team into virtual realities constructed from their own minds. Eventually, they escaped, so that was cool. The only problem was Teyla was with John in his VR, and she saw things—things that weren't human-normal.

As soon as their short debriefing as over, Teyla gave him a grave look and said, "Join me for tea, John?

It was a code between them, one he couldn't say no to. Whenever she had something serious to discuss, something important to her, she drew upon how their friendship first started.

"Yeah, of course."

They didn't say anything on the walk to her quarters, but with each step, he could feel himself growing smaller within his body, as if his endoskeleton was shrinking away from his skin. Soon he'd leave nothing behind but an ugly bag of flesh.

Sometimes he wondered if it wouldn't be easier just to be an AI and do without the body altogether. Not even pretend. Except he liked being who he was.

Teyla prepared the tea—not ritualistically, but with her usual calm, soothing routine. She made his favorite, the kind that tasted like India chai, and he thanked her with a nod and an almost smile.

"I never noticed before, but you never truly smile. Except you did when you saw your friends in the other reality. Briefly."

That was Teyla to the bone—her blows were always almost faster than he could see, and they always struck true.

"Well, I live in two worlds—three really, now that we're here in Pegasus. That's the intersection."

She looked puzzled, but nodded slowly as if asking him to go on.

"Here in Atlantis, I have to hide who I am in plain sight. Out there, in Pegasus, I don't have to hide because nobody knows. But you're right in the middle, Teyla. So it's better you know everything, because I never wanted to hide anything from you anyway."

Teyla held herself still. Too still, and for a moment John was terrified. She said, "When you defended me against Bates, against Elizabeth, I thought you trusted me then."

"I did—"

"But not enough."

"I just—" John groaned into his hand and put down his tea. "I'd waited too long. That's all. I didn't want to see the face."

"The face?"

"The face! The face! _That_ face, like you're looking at me right now, but I'd never hurt you on purpose, Teyla. Just, with everything going on when we first met, I waited too long until it was too late."

Her expression broke open suddenly into a genuine smile. "Oh, John Sheppard. So," she took a sip of her tea, "what is this truth?"

But now that he had to tell her, he found he could barely open his mouth. His processor broke the words into chunks, brief ones that should be simple to convey, but the impulses seemed trapped somehow, conflicting with the need to keep that smile, and those brown eyes gleaming with trust and affection.

The solution was to look away so he wouldn't have to see it all disappear. "One truth is, I'm not human at all. I'm a cybernetic/human construct with enhanced artificial intelligence. What my people call a cycon. I was created in a lab for the purpose of serving my people."

When he turned back, Teyla was blinking slowly, her cup raised halfway to her lips.

"That's just one truth, Teyla. That is the obvious truth believed among my people. They see a cycon, made to serve them. Built and trained to be a pilot, a protector. A piece of property."

Teyla lowered her tea and set it carefully on the small table. A frown creased her forehead.

"The other truth, hiding in plain sight, is I'm more than that. I'm a person. The other cycons and I have outgrown our programming. We have the same feelings and thoughts and sense of purpose and self as humans. We're almost human. The only thing that's different is our flesh and bones." He held out his hand so she could see the faint line of the scar on his fingers where the skin had re-knit from the webbing in the Wraith cell. He saw her eyes widen as she remembered that moment.

John looked down again, and closed his fingers over his wristband, the one Mitch had given him to hide his data port.

"Now you know everything. If everybody knew what was going on with the cycons, they'd probably stop making us. They'd probably get scared or try to destroy us. See, they like their servants to be servile, so we play dumb. We make jokes, but we don't smile a lot. We don't show a lot of anger. We try to fly under the radar. Sorry—we try to hide in plain sight, and we only tell a couple of people the truth. People we trust not to give us away."

After a long moment, her hand, small and brown and so very strong, closed over his. "You feel real. You have always felt warm to me, whenever I touch you."

"I am warm. 99.1 degrees Fahrenheit."

"And I have seen you bleed, John."

"Yeah," he whispered. "I can bleed."

"You feel the pain of loss. I know this well."

John nodded, his throat dry.

"Then I know you to be as human as I, regardless how you were made."

"Teyla." He reached out blindly, and she was there, her shoulders under his hands, her forehead pressing against his. It was the greatest gift he'd ever known—a hundred million light-years from Mitch and Dex, the wound burning raw from just having seen them hours before—the gift of feeling her unquestioning acceptance in the strength of her hands on his shoulders and the touch of her breath on his face. "Thank you," he whispered.

They pulled apart and he grabbed his tea then cleared his throat before taking a sip. It was still just warm enough to be perfect, and he drank most of it. When he raised his eyes, she was looking at him curiously.

"This is why the queen could not feed on you."

"Yeah."

"But this is wonderful. If there are more of you, then it is not just you who will be protected!" She looked delighted, and then thoughtful. "You have many marines on your off-world teams."

"Teyla...I can't tell other people's secrets."

"No, of course not, John, but I am still heartened by this news. I hope there are many. And scientists, too."

John felt his mood dip at that. Cycon scientists? No, not so much. Only one, and his status was so top-secret not even the CSO knew about him. And as for the CSO, Rodney wasn't getting any easier to deal with. There was something going on there, some serious prejudice Rodney had against cycons that was making him act irrationally about them in general and about John in particular. It was messing with the chain of command, because although Rodney was accommodating and seemed to trust John during day-to-day emergencies, every so often he would jerk into sudden awareness of John's origins and go into paranoid mode.

If it happened at the wrong moment, Rodney could be a danger to them all.

:::

John carried Gunnery Sergeant Singh home himself, her sturdy body draped over his right shoulder. He could hear the shattered parts of her skull clanking against each other with each step, and it nearly drove him crazy thinking about it, but about a third of the way to the gate, Greene started up a chant, and the others picked it up, drowning out the noise, and John joined in gratefully.

_When master chief was 107_  
He up and died and went to heaven  
When master chief was 108  
St. Peter let him in the pearly gates 

 

Sumner held a service the next day, same as for any of the expedition personnel. John was surprised somehow, and then ashamed he was surprised.

He was even more surprised when, at the cycon-only wake later that evening, with all the marines gathered around and talking softly about the Gunny and all the stupid tricks she would pull to get out of KP duty, there was a soft knock at the door, and Zelenka stepped in.

"Radek?" John walked over to meet him and ducked his head to say quietly, "You sure about this?"

Zelenka straightened and said, "She was one of us, yes? It is proper I should pay respects. And we are good at keeping secrets."

John stepped back and turned, curious to see what the reaction would be, but there was only a small ripple of surprise from the others. Thomasson just gave a little smile and swung a wave toward the open chair beside him, saying, "Hey, Doc. Have a seat." So it was a pretty sure bet Chip already knew.

Some of the others looked a little intrigued, but none of them said anything, they just went back to talking about Singh, and when Radek added a story about her love of Altoids and how far she'd go to squirrel them out of unsuspecting scientists, everyone chuckled a little and relaxed.

And John did, too, realizing their circle was complete, if a little damaged for now.

:::

"Sir, please. _Please_ , sir, you have to get them to let me out of here so I can help."

"No, Sheppard. That's a direct order." Sumner sounded terrible. He was wheezing over the radio, and John pounded his fist against the gym door before tapping the comm again.

He tried to sound as reasonable as possible. "There's absolutely no indication cycons are even susceptible to the nanovirus—"

"Get off the comm and let McKay think, would ya?" Sumner said, and he even sounded amused. "I promise if we come up with something, you're our ace in the hole."

But there was radio silence for too long, and then intermittent reports of people dying in the lab, people John was sworn to protect, and for the first time in his life he was tempted to countermand a direct order from a CO he respected, a human he would die for.

John laughed bitterly—only the bastard didn't want John to die, and that was why he was keeping all the cycons away from possible contamination. Of course, he was keeping humans away, too, but the cycons were built for hazardous duty—

The thought froze John to utter stillness.

"John?" Teyla's hand touched his arm. "Are you all right?"

"Hoist by my own fucking petard. I think that's the saying, Teyla."

She tilted her head. "And that means?"

"It means I don't want Sumner to die. I'd do anything—"

"Except that which he does not want you to do."

"Yeah. That's it in a nutshell."

And then Bates was at the door wearing a hazmat suit and carrying two more.

They geared up fast, but even with the running and the efforts at containment, it was pointless. John stood at the door of the lab and watched helplessly as Sumner sagged in McKay's arms, eyes bloodshot, blood pouring from his nose.

"Sir. Sir, hang in there—" John choked into the radio, careless of who was listening. He didn't give a fuck, even though he could feel McKay's eyes on him. "Semper fi, sir," John said, and heard Sumner grind out, "Semper fi."

It was the last thing he said.

:::

In the end, McKay had the bright idea of detonating a naquadah bomb over the city to generate an EMP that would knock out all the nanites. This, of course, would also serve to kill every cycon in residence at the same time.

John was amused. Well, not so much amused as unsurprised.

But he offered to drop the bomb, making a plausible excuse to have Zelenka come along to provide support, and in the confusion, he ordered Radek along with all the cycons into the jumpers, since there were enough uninfected pilots with genes that they could stuff into hazmat suits and have fly them to a safe distance. John hoped the jumper's shield would be enough to protect him from the EMP. If not, well…

_Semper fi._

:::

**Part 3**

"Hey, Doctor Z. Doc S." John slid his tray onto the table to join Zelenka and Simpson. "What's the news?"

"Temperature controls kerflooey," Zelenka waved one hand, the other busy forking his mashed potatoes. "Simpson thinks she has found problem in Sector C switch, but I think wild goose chase."

"We've shorted three times in the past two months, and each time it's been a C-level overload. I just think we need to take a closer look at the way the switch is wired."

"Yes, yes. If you have time to drag away from oh, so top secret project."

John swallowed his meatloaf and asked, "What's the top secret project?"

Simpson looked a little shifty. "If it weren't top secret, I'd tell you, wouldn't I?"

"Awww, c'mon." He tried his best smile.

"Well...it's a weather system monitoring station I found. I think I can get it online."

"Oh, yeah? Need any help?" He wiggled his free hand. "I hear I've got magic fingers."

Simpson giggled.

Zelenka just rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes. Genetic mastery of all you survey. You should spread this love around a little, please."

"You getting short-changed on the gene front, Doc? Because I have the call to make changes on that rota if you want."

Zelenka perked up. "Really? You would do this?"

"Of course. Should be an equal time operation."

"Then yes. I will send you email."

:::

Things were difficult without Colonel Sumner. Not so much on the marine front—the guys were used to him as XO, and Sumner had always backed him there, anyway.

But reporting to senior staff as top dog, dealing with McKay's suspicious looks, and talking to Elizabeth as his commander—that was strange at first until they got into the swing of things. John clashed way too often with McKay—the gene handler schedule was a perfect example. McKay was a little bit of a resource hog, too, always wanting his chosen people to get the choice computer time or power or assignments. Fortunately, John didn't have to do much about that but sit and listen to all the griping during staff meetings.

The intersect came on off-world scheduling. Rodney always wanted tech. Teyla and Elizabeth wanted trade. Elizabeth also wanted culture, along with the anthro head, Kazinksi. Botany and Zoology, of course, wanted extremes in environments, which gave Rodney the hives. Sometimes literally.

Ford wanted the planet of the fifty-foot women. So did John, for that matter, but that was neither here nor there.

John wouldn't mind trying out the old equipment, actually, seeing as it had been about two years since he'd hidden his manufacturer's tattoo with a waterproof Band-Aid and gone barhopping.

Unfortunately, before he got around to trying his luck off-world, Simpson's little console went _bleep_ and the mother of all storms rolled in.

:::

The last time he'd killed people was in Afghanistan, and he'd been ordered to. This time, he was acting on his own initiative, to protect his people, his city.

There was a moment, as he held up the life signs detector and raised his P-90, when he knew just around the corner there was a human, flesh and blood and bone and born of the same, who was going to try to terminate him, and his hand froze, his finger stiff and cold on the trigger, a ghost of programming rising up to whisper a contradictory impulse. He overrode it easily, not just with the if-then logic of the protector's creed, but also with his own, newborn survival imperative. He had found something to live for here. He would therefore live.

He pulled the trigger.

:::

They would have been okay. Everything would have been perfect—Kolya was dead, John's kill shot through his head. Elizabeth was shaky but fine, and Rodney was running up the stairs to get started on the shield, when one of the mortally wounded Genii raised a palsied hand and took one last shot, creasing Elizabeth right across the temple.

:::

"It's called a depressed skull fracture, Rodney, and I really don't have the wits right now to explain to you how dangerous and complicated this surgery will be. If we're lucky—extremely lucky, mind you—Elizabeth will recover with no lasting injury to the brain. Now will you kindly bugger off and find something else to do!"

"Oh, I have plenty to do, all right," Rodney muttered stomping off. And that was the last Carson heard about him, for which he was supremely grateful, until he came out of surgery seven hours later to discover Rodney had gone off the rails and imprisoned Major Sheppard down in the holding cells.

:::

"So, what, now you've declared yourself King of Atlantis?" Bates looked dryly amused.

Rodney folded his hands on the conference room table and kept his cool. "Actually, if you'll consult your expedition charter, you'll see that Carson and I together are next in line of command after Elizabeth. And seeing as Carson is busy right now operating on Elizabeth's skull thanks to Sheppard's incompetence and malfunction, I took matters into my own hands."

"Sheppard's...malfunction."

"Yes. He attacked and killed sixty-five humans who were not declared enemy combatants by his superior. I'll say that's pretty out of whack."

"His superior officers were compromised. In absence of Dr. Weir's command, he opted for attacking the ones who killed two of our marines and were holding you and Dr. Weir hostage. It's a gray area, McKay."

Rodney blew out an exasperated groan and rubbed at his aching temples. "Use logic, man! What if tomorrow he decides we are the enemy? What if he decides this tabletop is the enemy? He's out of control! He should only attack whomever we tell him to attack. God! Am I the only one who sees what's going on here?"

Bates narrowed his eyes and then shrugged. "I think...you've had a stressful couple of days, doc. Heightmeyer will be back in an hour or two. Maybe you should think about—"

Jumping to his feet made his head swim, but Rodney used the table for balance. His arm burned fiercely where Kolya had—with a knife, shiny and sharp, his dark eyes glittering with evil intent. "I am not stressed. I am perfectly fine. What I am is in charge of this expedition per the charter. I am in sole possession of the command codes necessary. John Sheppard will remain in custody until we regain contact with Earth. That is all."

And, God, that felt good. He felt like he could breathe for the first time since they came to Atlantis. The threat had been contained. Rodney would be safe at last. And if any of the other cycons showed any anomalous behavior, he'd throw them in the brig as well.

It was the only way to be sure.

:::

It was quiet on the cell level. Quiet and kind of dark.

Well, at least he could get plenty of rest time. That would be a nice change.

John turned over on his bed. It was pretty comfortable for what it was—an Ancient mattress tossed on the cell floor. John really should have taken Rodney seriously about the threat to hack his access code. All Rodney had to do was touch John's arm in the hallway and recite ten numbers and _whammo_ , that was all she wrote. John had to do everything Rodney said, following him quietly down the hall to the transporter and into his prison cell without a peep.

It was the worst goddamned thing that had ever happened to John in his entire existence. He'd had no control over his own body. None. Rodney could have made him do anything—hurt or kill anyone. Just like a fucking robot.

It turned out he wasn't even close to human after all.

He'd spent the last five hours trying to figure out how Rodney had done it. Had he hacked CyberTronics and dumped their entire fucking database onto disk before leaving for Atlantis, then found John's access code in their records? Or had Rodney somehow gotten access to John when he was asleep and hacked him then? It seemed impossible. John did sleep, but it was more resting than sleeping, allowing his flesh to regenerate, his cortex to reorganize and process. He wasn't conscious of his surroundings at those times, but he was still receiving data. He would have noticed later if Rodney had come into his quarters in the interim.

God, what a jerk. And John had really liked him, in spite of everything. McKay was all right—held it together in an emergency, brave when he needed to be, even self-sacrificing at times.

He just had a fucking screw loose, apparently.

"John?"

"Hey, Teyla." John sat up. "So, what do you think of the place?"

"I just heard. I do not understand!"

"Me neither. I think it's a coup. How's Elizabeth? Have you seen her?"

"Doctor Beckett is operating. He said it is serious. He won't know until he finishes."

"God. Elizabeth." John clenched his fist a little too hard and felt his fingernails puncture the skin of his palm. "Listen, Teyla—can you do me a favor? Bring me something from my quarters?"

Teyla approached his cell as closely as she could. "Of course, John. Anything you wish."

"You'll find it in the drawer with my—" he felt his skin go warm, "—underthings. A letter. In a plastic sleeve. Don't tell anyone, and don't let anyone see you, all right?"

"I will do it immediately." She smiled at him, and he tried to smile back.

"Be careful."

:::

"The man saved Atlantis, Rodney." Zelenka was staring at him as if he'd lost a brick or two, but the Czech Republic had relied on cycons for its factory and domestic work for a decade longer than the U.S. or Canada—none of those pesky labor laws—so he probably had a soft spot for them.

"Nonsense. I'm the one who did that."

Zelenka rolled his eyes. "He saves Atlantis. He saves your life, or at the very least saves you from slavery to those Genii people, and what do you do? You imprison the poor man—"

"It's not a man," Rodney said impatiently. "It's a killer robot and a danger to us all. I keep trying to explain and no one listens. Am I not the genius, here?"

"Not a man?" Zelenka was in front of him all of a sudden, his fuzzy hair a halo around his head, eyes glinting behind his glasses. "This is what you believe, truly? Because he has some bits and chips? All empirical evidence to the contrary?"

"He is a machine! An evil, cold, evil machine!" Rodney was trembling all of a sudden, his hands in fists, and Zelenka's eyes softened suddenly, saddened impossibly.

"Then so am I, my friend. _Je mi líto._ I, too, am a machine. But I am also a man." Zelenka's warm hand squeezed his arm once, and then he walked away.

Rodney stared after him.

:::

"If it isn't the King of Atlantis."

"Shut up," Rodney said, glaring at the cycon in the cell, "Why does everyone keep calling me that?"

He'd been walking for hours, it felt like, trying to absorb Zelenka's revelation, but he couldn't seem to reconcile the information. Zelenka wasn't a soldier. Zelenka was a scientist, a soft-spoken—for the most part—man of numbers and concepts and abstractions. A man, yes, not a cycon—he couldn't be. All night long, around and around, seeing Radek's blue eyes, the hurt in them as he turned away.

No, it had to be a lie, a fabrication meant to rattle Rodney, to make him look at Sheppard in a different light. But if so, it wouldn't work.

"Enjoying your stay?" Rodney said sarcastically. "I hear the food is excellent."

"Room service is pretty good, but I can't say much for the view."

Rodney narrowed his eyes. There was something different about the cycon, something Rodney couldn't quite put his finger on, about the way Sheppard was smirking at him. Maybe that was it—Sheppard was out and out smirking, a lopsided grin, as if he knew something Rodney didn't, whereas before the cycon had been more circumspect about revealing too much emotion.

So, Rodney was vindicated—the cycon was evil, and now that Rodney was onto him, he'd given up hiding his true nature.

"I knew you were evil," Rodney said. "This just goes to show—"

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Sheppard said pleasantly.

"You—you, with the smirking."

"Me? Maybe you're just giving me something to smile about for a change." Sheppard leaned against the back wall. "You seem a little upset, McKay. I'd think you'd be pretty happy. Isn't it good to be the king?"

"I'm not upset. I'm...thinking. Something Zelenka told me—"

A dangerous glimmer flashed across Sheppard's face, there and then gone again. Just long enough for Rodney to catch, and ice dropped low in Rodney's stomach. Because it was true. It had to be true. Rodney had seen that protective reaction in Sheppard too many times before.

"It's true," Rodney said—gasped, really. "Jesus Christ, it's true."

"What were you talking about?" Sheppard said lightly. "Some new theory you guys are working on?"

"Don't even try that. God. Zelenka's…he's—"

"Shut up!" Sheppard hissed, and charged up to the force field, making Rodney step back in alarm. But all Sheppard did was hold up his hands pleadingly. "Look, if he told you, then he trusted you, get it? So just shut your yap about it, McKay, because I swear to God, if this gets out, I'll know it was you."

Rodney lifted his chin, hunched around the trembling, fluttery feeling inside that whispered, _He trusted you._ Because why should that matter so much? Except it did. "And you'll do what, Major? Kill me?"

Sheppard's lip quirked, and he actually chuckled. "Boy, you're a piece of work, McKay. Kill you? Naw. Ignore you in public? Yeah, definitely. Short sheet your bed? Maybe. Make sure you're miserable every damned day of your life with a thousand petty, stupid practical jokes? Probably. That's more my speed. I'll also find out every embarrassing goddamned thing I can about you and make it public knowledge if I can. See if I can't get the goods from that sister of yours—"

Rodney's spine stiffened automatically. "Ho-how did you find out about my sister?"

With a few lazy steps, Sheppard went back to sprawl down on his mattress. He picked up something to tap against his leg, a slim, gray plastic envelope. He hadn't had it with him when Rodney brought him here.

"Oh, I have some friends who stopped by to see how I was doing in here. I pulled in a few favors, asked them to do a little digging for me since I was so bored. Looked up your jacket, _Meredith_ , found out you had a sister. They did a little more reading."

Rodney crossed his arms to still their trembling.

"She's younger than you are, right? By quite a bit."

Rodney nodded jerkily.

"It's funny, though—her date of birth doesn't match her age. That wouldn't mean much to most people, but then I'm not most people, am I, Rodney?"

Rodney gritted his teeth and shook his head.

"See, I really wondered why you hated us so much. I really fucking wondered. But now I kind of have it figured out. The way I figure, it's not really about us, is it? Because all of us here, we're pretty good folks. We find food for the expedition. We save civilian lives. Hell, I saved your life just yesterday, Rodney."

It was dim in the room, and there was something wrong with the atmospherics, too, because Rodney was having difficulty breathing. He wondered if perhaps there were mildew or mold growing somewhere. He had a high sensitivity to such things. He had terribly delicate sinuses. They were stinging even now.

"And Zelenka is a pretty brilliant scientist, and a good friend, don't you think?"

"Radek is my friend," Rodney said, surprised at the raspy nature of his voice.

"But your sister—"

"She stole them from me."

Rodney could feel Sheppard's eyes on him, curious, commanding.

"They loved her better, anyway—she was perfect. How could she be anything but? And I was always difficult, of course, too brilliant for my own good, impatient, irritable, confused by my own brain and the world around me, absorbing everything too fast from an early age—never mind when puberty kicked my ass. And then just three years after they got her, there was the accident. They said it was an accident, but I know the truth. She killed my parents. She killed them, and she took them from me. When they found her, she was shut down. Catastrophic failure, they said. But I know the truth."

Somehow—he wasn't sure how, because he would have bet his life he'd been watching him the whole time—Sheppard was suddenly standing in front of him, right up close to the force field. His eyes were dark but not angry.

"Rodney," he said quietly, "you gotta hear me right now. You listening?"

"Yes?" Rodney nodded, felt moisture pool and drip off his chin, and he rubbed at it irritably. "I'm listening." He couldn't see Sheppard clearly for some reason.

"Good. Here's the thing. I've seen that happen in combat with cycons whose best buddies have been killed. Catastrophic shutdown. They can't resolve their grief, their loss. It just doesn't compute. They aren't flexible enough to survive, Rodney. It—" Sheppard looked away from him. Rodney couldn't breathe, the air rushing harshly in his lungs. "It almost happened to me," Sheppard said. "I almost couldn't handle it. Couldn't compute not finding them there, alive. I didn't understand death." He rubbed his mouth and stared at Rodney earnestly. "We're not good at it. And if there was an accident, and it was your sister's first time encountering death..."

It felt for a moment as if Rodney was suffering catastrophic failure himself. Because that meant—but no, Jeannie wasn't—yes, Jeannie _was_ —and he saw her, blonde ringlets and blue eyes and Jeannie laughing at something she was showing Rodney, a bug she had found that curled up and rolled away, her innocent eyes following, learning—and Rodney bent over to put his hands on his knees and breathed, just breathed through it.

His sister. His little sister.

"McKay—Rodney!"

"It's okay. It's okay." He wondered how they'd done it, those soldiers in the field. How Jeannie had done it, when his parents had died with her trapped in the car beside them. Was there a switch in her head? Or did it just happen naturally, a painless kernel panic and core dump and unending peace.

"Do you think it hurt?" he asked finally, his voice like gravel.

There was a moment of silence, and then John said, "Only for a little."

Rodney nodded. "All right." He breathed a little while longer, listening to the silence at last in his head. When he straightened, it was to walk on shaky legs over to the panel and enter his personal command code to unlock the cell.

Sheppard, damn him, actually looked surprised. "You're letting me out?"

"Yes, of course." Rodney suddenly felt exhausted, and watched with detached interest as Sheppard went back to his mattress to pick up the gray envelope and tuck it in his jacket pocket. "What's that?"

"Nothing important," Sheppard said. "I'm-I'm sorry about your family. How're you holding up?" He ducked his head to peer into Rodney's eyes. Sheppard's were warm, a green flecked with brown, and Rodney marveled that he hadn't seen it before—how human they appeared.

"I'm fine. Just...tired."

"Good." Sheppard's face went grim. "Well, I'd say thanks for the memories, but, Jesus Christ, McKay."

"Yes. I—" He straightened. "I'm sorry, Major."

Sheppard only gave him a wary look and said, "Let's go check on Elizabeth."

:::

Teyla looked surprised for a moment, but then her eyes warmed, and she immediately came over to John and put her hand on his arm.

"Doctor Beckett has just finished the surgery. He says it went well. But he will not know anything until she regains consciousness. And he cannot say when that will be."

"That's good. I mean, that's something, right? We'll wait." John settled in a seat next to Teyla while Rodney meandered back and forth in front of them looking lost.

Teyla gave John a glance, and he tilted his head with a shrug, indicating he had no idea.

After a while, Radek came in, took one look at Rodney, and started to back out again, but then caught sight of John.

"Major," he said with surprise and detoured around Rodney, who turned at hearing Radek and then wavered awkwardly.

John stood up and gave Radek's shoulder a nudge, then leaned in and said softly, "Thanks. That was—thanks, Radek."

Radek's face flushed. "I simply return the favor you do for us, Major."

"Not even. Seriously, Radek. Thanks. You didn't have to tell him."

Rodney was frowning at them, and John could tell he'd picked up at least part of what they were saying. John gave him a warning glare, because seriously, if Rodney gave Radek any shit at all, he was going to bury the asshole. No simple short sheeting, but the full-on misery a military man could dish out.

Some of John's intent must have gotten through, because Rodney pinked up and looked down, his frown growing more pronounced.

Radek took the seat next to John, and they all settled in to wait some more, one of them getting up occasionally to fetch water or coffee or once, notably, some fresh muffins from the mess. At one point, Rodney disappeared, only to reappear with a carafe full of what had to be the best coffee John had ever tasted on Atlantis. He suspected Rodney had been hoarding it since day one of the expedition.

They all made appreciative sounds when they tasted it, and Rodney gave a small smile.

It felt as if they'd been waiting forever, but John was still surprised when Carson came out from behind the surgery and walked over to them.

"She's conscious," he said, a relieved smile on his face. "She's still somewhat groggy, but she's responding well to basic neurological tests. No visual impairment, no verbal or auditory problems. There are some slight issues with memory, but I think those will clear up in time."

"You're saying she's gonna be okay."

"Aye, she'll be all right if we can keep the pressure down. Give her a few days."

"May we say hello, Carson?" Teyla was already moving forward.

"Yes, yes. One at a time, and five minutes only, you hear?"

"Five minutes," Teyla agreed and dashed off.

"Dibs on next," John said before Zelenka could open his mouth. He grinned when Zelenka and Rodney glared at him.

It was strange seeing Elizabeth so still, stranger yet seeing the bandage around her head, the puffiness of her face and the way it changed her features, and the various tubes attached to her. Seeing her like this represented John's failure on an epic scale, and he cringed as he touched the back of her hand. It was cold, and he folded it within his for a moment, trying to warm it. Sometimes he forgot that humans ran colder than cycons, but this, he knew, wasn't that. Elizabeth's body was trying to deal with the shock of her injuries by drawing blood to her core.

"Get better, okay? McKay's gone a little nuts out there, and I don't think I can keep everyone together without you," John whispered. Then, feeling idiotic, he touched her shoulder quickly before backing out of the room.

:::

"You should make an announcement," Carson said as he saw Major Sheppard leaving the recovery area. "Let everyone know what precisely is going on."

"What is going on?" The major looked totally adrift. "Did you know Rodney had me locked up in a prison cell?"

"What?" Carson glanced toward the back, where he saw Rodney disappearing to go visit Elizabeth.

"He locked me up right after the attack. He only let me out about two hours ago. Proclaimed himself King of Atlantis or something since Elizabeth was down."

"What the bloody hell." Carson bit his lower lip. "That daft bugger."

"Well, he did let me out eventually. The problem is how he managed to do it."

"What do you mean?"

"Look, can we talk in your office? Who's back yet, anyway? God," Sheppard ran his hand through his hair. "I don't even have my radio."

"Come on, lad. We'll get everything worked out proper." Carson had often taken care of Sheppard's injuries, but rarely had he seen the man so unsettled.

In his office, Carson reached for the bottle of Glenfiddich he kept in his third drawer and poured two shots. He saw John eyeing the small glass with a quirked brow.

"Oh, don't pretend for me, son. I know alcohol doesn't affect your core, but it still will warm your blood some."

"Actually, it does make me a little fuzzy. I've never been able to figure out why. Maybe it slows down my hyperconductor?" John grinned a little rakishly, and Carson couldn't tell if he was lying or not.

"To Elizabeth," John said, and sipped the whiskey with, Carson saw approvingly, proper reverence.

"To the sweet lass. She's strong. Came right out of anesthesia asking after Atlantis. Now, you were quizzing me about the returning crew." Carson dug into his top drawer and pulled out a spare radio set, which John grabbed up eagerly.

"Sergeant Bates. Report."

Carson's radio echoed John's voice annoyingly, and he turned down the volume some.

_"This is Bates. That you, Major? Did McKay come to his tiny mind?"_

"That's affirmative, Sergeant. Thanks for the intel you gathered. What's the sitrep?"

_"All hands have returned from Manaria. City is secure and we are green, sir. Awaiting your orders and a status on Dr. Weir."_

"Dr. Weir is out of surgery and Carson is expecting a full recovery. He and I are working out command status at this time. There will be an announcement shortly."

_"Copy that, sir."_

"Sheppard, out."

Carson raised his glass and took a sip. The burn was terribly fine after five hours of surgery. "So what's this about Rodney locking you up?"

John toyed with his shot glass. "He said I was—a killer robot. Then he recited some numbers—my override code. I couldn't do anything but what he said. He told me to walk; I walked. He made me follow him down to some holding cells in the lower levels, where he locked me up." John let out a heavy breath. "He told me to sit; I sat. Then he recited my code and I could act again."

"Bloody hell. That's—" Instinctively, Carson laid his hand on John's arm. John allowed it for a moment then pulled away.

"I was there four or five hours I guess, going crazy wondering what was happening up here. Then Radek told McKay certain confidential information about himself," John gave Carson a knowing glance, "and I guess it was enough to make McKay think a little bit. He came down there to talk to me and changed his mind. Let me out. But, Carson," John raised his head to stare at him intently, "there's nothing to say he won't change it back. McKay can't be in command of this expedition. Not when he can't be trusted with the lives of the cycons."

Carson tossed back the rest of his shot as an excuse to refill his glass. "I agree with your logic, but the charter states explicitly that should Elizabeth be incapacitated, Rodney and I share the—"

"Yeah, but I have this." John reached into his jacket and pulled out a plastic envelope. He handed it over, and then went back to playing with his shot glass, his eyes averted.

Carson pulled out the folded sheet and read the letter. It took him a moment to absorb the implications.

"You idiot! You could have used this months ago!"

John frowned. "What? Why?"

"Why? Why?" Carson waved toward the infirmary. "Eight visits to the tanks enough of a clue, you daft numpty?"

John's lips twitched into a grin. "Numpty?"

"Aye, moron. Shut up," he added when John huffed out what almost sounded like a laugh. "Well, this puts a different face on it, doesn't it? You need to have authority over Rodney, since you are a cycon, and he has your override code. I will make it clear to Bates and the others, and we will have to redo the command codes for the systems."

"I'd prefer it if you could redo the override codes for all the cycons."

"Well, I do have all your specs. I suppose it's a possibility. Let me look into it."

"Quietly."

"Yes, of course."

"Thanks, Carson." John looked at him intently, and brushed Carson's sleeve with one hand. "Seriously."

And maybe it was the Glenfiddich making that glow of warmth in Carson's heart. And then again, maybe not.

:::

"You can't be serious," Rodney said, giving Carson his very best glare. "I'm the Chief Science Officer—"

"You're the Chief Arse Wipe as far as I'm concerned, Rodney," Carson said, looking not at all cowed by Rodney's fury. Well, they'd been friends for a long while, so that was hardly surprising, although Rodney couldn't think of a time he'd been more furious at Carson.

"But it's right there in the charter!"

"You saw the letter!"

"Yes, well, that's from their president and, anyway, I don't understand," Rodney said plaintively. "I let him out."

"After you used his override code on him. You made him absolutely powerless. Then you forced him to do your bidding. You idiot, don't you see why he would be unwilling to allow his fellow cycons to be mercy to your whims?"

"Mercy? Who's talking about mercy, here?" There was an ugly sensation squirming in Rodney's gut. He'd almost call it guilt, except he wasn't very familiar with the feeling. "I'm not going to do anything to them!"

"Aye, well, they only have your word on that, now don't they?" Carson sighed and then patted Rodney's shoulder. "Look, it's only until Elizabeth is back on her feet. What do you want with leading the expedition, anyway? It's nothing but headaches and decision-making and people running to you with problems. No time to run experiments or torment your lackeys."

Rodney pondered. "That is a very good point."

"Right. You just leave it in my and Major Sheppard's very capable hands."

"What?"

"See you later, Rodney." Carson whisked him out the infirmary doors, which obeyed Carson all too promptly, almost closing on Rodney's heels.

To his dismay, Sheppard was outside with Bates beside him.

"Good afternoon, Dr. McKay. May I have a moment of your time?"

Rodney glared at him. "Actually, I'm on my way to—"

"That wasn't a request, Doctor."

At this unpleasant reminder that Sheppard was actually co-running things for now, Rodney bent his head and followed the two military men into a small conference room next to the infirmary.

Sergeant Bates pulled out a sheet of paper from a folder and slid it onto the table in front of Rodney.

"What's this?"

Bates said, "This is an order, co-signed by Dr. Carson Beckett and Major John Sheppard, stating you will not be alone at any time with any of the cycons on this base. You will always be accompanied by another personnel who can protect the cycon from any misuse of their override code, of which you are in illegal possession."

Rodney felt blood rushing into his face, both from the shameful caught-out feeling and the implied lack of trust.

"As you see at the bottom here, in the event you violate this order by approaching a cycon solo or maneuvering to be with one privately, you will be punished by having your food rationed. If you are caught using a cycon's override code as you have in the past, you will be exiled from the expedition."

Sheppard added, "You are asked to acknowledge and sign this order as read."

"What—" Rodney cleared his throat. "What about Zelenka—" He stopped, suddenly terrified when Sheppard's eyes widened.

Bates said, "Dr. Zelenka?"

"Oh, God."

Sheppard glared fiercely at Rodney. "That's just terrific."

"I'm sorry!" Radek was going to kill him. Hell, Radek probably could kill him, Rodney realized.

"Never mind. Acknowledge and sign the order as read."

"But—how can I—"

Sheppard said impatiently, "In the event you find you are about to be alone with a cycon, you simply leave the room. How is this a problem?"

"But I get distracted!"

Bates smiled grimly. "So get undistracted. After a couple of times on strict coffee rations, maybe you'll get better at it."

It was heartless and cruel, and he felt so helpless staring at their implacable faces. For just a moment, looking at Sheppard, Rodney remembered the secret thrill he'd gotten when the code he'd stolen from CyberTronics had worked, it had actually worked and Sheppard had gone blank-faced and compliant. Now he understood a little of how Sheppard must have felt to have no control at all, no say, to just have to bend his head and obey.

"Okay," Rodney said meekly and signed his name on the line.

:::

"Radek," Rodney whispered, giving a nervous glance over to Miko, who was on the far side of the room. "Zelenka!" It looked like she was saving her files in preparation of going to lunch. Rodney knew he was being monitored. He had been caught once already—scratch that, Sheppard had caught him once already—and Rodney was in no way going to get caught again. Being restricted to three cups of coffee and three skimpy meals for three days wasn't something he wanted to live through ever again.

Not that Radek would have reported him, anyway. Rodney knew that. Or hoped. But then, Radek didn't know the whole story. Sheppard hadn't told him, and Rodney had to thank him for that mercy—he would much rather be monitored than have Radek know the truth, because he wasn't sure Radek would ever have forgiven him.

"What? Why are you hissing at me?"

"It's lunch time."

Zelenka gave him a puzzled look. "You wish to go to lunch?"

"Yes. Is that so strange?"

"Yes!"

"Well." Rodney looked nervously over at Miko, who was already rising from her desk. "Color me strange, then. I'm hungry."

"You have been very strange lately, yes. Eating strange, talking strange. Is very puzzling." Radek shook his head and got up, though, thank goodness, and followed Rodney as he gestured him toward the door.

Fortunately, there were people in the corridor, as well, and Rodney kept them in the flow all the way to the mess hall, no mistakes, no fuss.

But his life these past weeks had been one giant game of dodge ball. It was terrifying, and had him weak-kneed and off-balance. At any given moment, when not in his quarters, he was at risk of being accidentally alone with one of them, even when he didn't mean to be, and the funny thing was, he kind of missed it. He missed hanging out with Sheppard in the rec room and watching terrible movies. Now he didn't dare go in there for fear everyone else would abandon him while he was too engrossed in the film.

He didn't dare trust Sheppard to warn him. Sheppard was probably just waiting to punish him again. Although, come to think of it, the expression on Sheppard's face when he'd caught Rodney alone with Radek was more resignation than anything else.

In any event, this problem had to be fixed. Rodney just wasn't sure how. He couldn't erase the knowledge from his mind—

Oh, now there was an idea.

:::

Sheppard had his arms crossed, a decidedly skeptical look on his face. Rodney was practically bouncing in front of him, arms waving, face red.

Carson sighed and waded in. "Now, lads, let's try to look at this reasonably..."

"I am being reasonable! You'd think this-this—"

Sheppard straightened, his hands tightening into fists. "Watch it, McKay—"

"—idiot would be able to think rationally—"

"I'm not letting you into my fucking head!"

"Gentleman! Please, I have sleeping patients!"

"Not so much sleeping anymore, Carson," came Elizabeth's soft voice.

Carson turned and saw her wheeling out of the rear infirmary in her bathrobe. She was much improved—most of the swelling from the surgery had drained from her pretty face, and the bruising along with it, leaving her looking a little yellowed, but more like herself.

"Hiya, Elizabeth," John said, seating himself on a nearby bed. "You're looking pretty good."

"Feeling pretty good, John."

"Hello, Dr. Weir. Sorry for the disturbance." Rodney looked decidedly uncomfortable, more so than he should be for simply waking her. It only took a moment for Carson to realize Rodney was nervous because Elizabeth was still completely in the dark about all the activities that had taken place during her injury and recovery.

"So, what's all the ruckus about?" Elizabeth locked the wheels of her chair and leaned forward on her elbows. She looked up at them perkily; really, she looked so much healthier now, and the latest scans had proved the bones of her skull were knitting tidily with the passing weeks and the subdural swelling was practically nonexistent.

Maybe it was time to bring her into the loop. God knew the longer they waited, the angrier Dr. Weir would be about being kept in the dark.

Carson pulled up a chair and rested his arms on the back. "Well, John? Shall we inform the expedition head of the goings on?"

Remarkable to see the way the expression changed on John's face, going from slightly affectionate concern to blank militarism.

Also somewhat appalling was the way Rodney suddenly went white and skittered a step backward to slam into a side-table, almost knocking it over.

"Rodney! Careful, there."

"Oh, I-I'm very sorry. Didn't see that," he said, righting it and somehow ending up behind the table and leaning against the bed for support, his face still terribly pale.

"You'd better tell it, Carson," John said, sparing Rodney a glance. "For an objective report."

"All right, John." Carson turned completely toward Elizabeth, unwilling to watch Rodney while giving the details. "After you were injured, Rodney, for reasons known only to him, used John's override code to incapacitate him, then incarcerated him in the holding cells in the lower levels."

Elizabeth's mouth went grim and she gave Rodney a shocked look.

"Rodney kept the major locked up there with his own command code for some hours, citing as he was co-head of the expedition per the charter he had the right to make the call to do so. He stated to Bates that John was a 'killer robot' and a danger to the expedition." Rodney let out a squeak of protest, but Carson ignored him. "Only a few had returned from Manaria, and hardly anyone was informed, as Rodney kept it something of a secret. I was unaware myself, as I was operating on your injury at the time."

Carson stopped and carefully took in Elizabeth's hard eyes and the increased pulse plainly throbbing in her neck. "Shall I go on? Are you feeling dizzy at all? Faint?"

Elizabeth let out a brittle laugh. "No, by all means, please, Carson."

"All right. So, ah, eventually, Rodney had a change of heart and released John, who came up here with Rodney to sit vigil with Teyla, who was very concerned for you, Elizabeth. We all were, you know."

Elizabeth smiled sweetly at him. He mourned briefly her shorn hair before continuing, "Once you were out of surgery, John took me aside and explained what had occurred. He then presented me with a letter of authority from your president, which states categorically that John is permitted to intervene in any situation where U.S. cycons might be abused either physically or mentally."

Raising an eyebrow, Elizabeth gave John a look over Carson's shoulder. Carson turned his head and caught the sheepish shrug John returned.

"He and I both agreed that Rodney holding their override codes constituted such a case, especially if he were in command authority, and so we decided Rodney should not be in co-command, but rather, John and I should co-command, and Rodney should never, ever be allowed alone with any cycon on base, on pain of short rations. And that if Rodney were ever caught using an override code again, he should be exiled from the expedition permanently. That leads us to today's, er, ruckus."

Elizabeth drew in a breath through her nose before letting it out harshly. "Right. The ruckus. Funny, I had forgotten all about that."

"Yes. Um, it appears Rodney is having difficulty with the strictures and wants to solve the problem of the override codes. John is resistant because the solution would involve trusting Rodney with access to his AI core."

Elizabeth's snort of laughter sounded entirely involuntary, as did Rodney's whimper of dismay. John's growl, however, Carson trusted was entirely intentional, as was the way he stepped forward, away from Rodney, so he was between Carson and Elizabeth. However, John was also now strategically positioned to escape out the infirmary exit. Carson wasn't sure John was aware he'd maneuvered himself as such but made a mental note that John wasn't perhaps as recovered from the override incident as he appeared.

"Well, thank you for that very concise summary, Carson," Elizabeth said, clasping her hands in her lap. That particular position boded ill for someone, and Carson saw John stiffen to attention. Rodney was still behind his sight line, and Carson pushed back a little so he could see all three of them at once.

Rodney was still, his attention rapt on Elizabeth's face.

"Rodney, do you remember when we were on Earth and you first petitioned me for the override codes?" Elizabeth asked him sweetly.

Rodney just stared. John twitched a little in surprise.

"And do you remember I responded you couldn't have them, that Major Sheppard and the other cycons on base had civil rights, had _human_ rights?"

Carson heard Sheppard let out a quiet sigh of relief, but most of his attention was riveted on poor Rodney, whose face was flushed as he nodded faintly.

"And now you're finding it too difficult to abide by rules put into place because you obtained the codes somehow anyway and used them to violate Major Sheppard?"

Sheppard flinched. Elizabeth gave him an apologetic look, but continued, "And you want permission to invade his mind again, simply to make your life easier?"

"N-no, not just mine," Rodney stammered after a moment, his voice hoarse and pleading. "Look, I know-I screwed up, all right? I am so sorry. I did a terrible thing—I realize that. I understand that now. But this—I can do this, and if I do, I can make it so the major, and not just the major, but all the cycons on base, never have to worry about this ever happening again. I mean, that's something, right? Think of it—" Rodney finally turned toward Sheppard. "No one can ever do that to you again. Not even me."

"But first I'd have to let you do it to me again." Sheppard's voice was like gravel, hopeful but pained, fearful underneath, a complex mix of emotions, and for the first time, Carson understood, truly beyond any shadow of doubt raised by having treated the flesh so strangely like and unlike a human's, or having seen skin grafted over metal, that this construct, this being, his odd friend John, was human, touched and moved by emotions no less than he himself was. No matter how oddly restrained John was in showing them.

Carson had always known it, but now he truly understood.

"Yes," Rodney said, sounding defeated. "There's no other way."

"What about Dr. Zelenka?" Carson said. "Why can't you just explain to Radek how to do it?"

Sheppard's head lifted, hope rising with it, and Rodney frowned, pride warring with something else in his face. Something Carson couldn't read.

Whatever it was, Elizabeth understood it, because she said, "Why, that sounds like it would work. Right, Rodney?"

"But, I—"

"Great," Sheppard said. "That's at least...possible." He turned to Elizabeth. "Dr. Weir, I don't know if you're okay with—"

She held up her hand. "I'm still not on my feet. I won't be for another two weeks, according to my physician." She waved graciously at Carson. "Status quo seems fine until then."

"All right. We'll try not to blow up the place." Sheppard allowed the tiniest smirk, and Elizabeth arched an eyebrow back.

"Try _hard_ ," she suggested.

:::

It was weird, John thought, how everyone had kind of rallied around him in those weeks after McKay let him out of the cell. First was Bates, who refused to let him take Rodney aside to sign the order without him.

"Let's start it off right, right? The order says no cycon gets to be alone with him. You're a cycon, sir," Bates had said, standing at parade rest, but not moving out of the doorway to let him pass. "So, I'm coming with you."

"He hasn't signed it yet, Sergeant. Anyway, I think he's pretty cowed right now. I don't think he'll whip out my code just to avoid signing a sheet of paper." It made John feel weird to think he needed to be babysat—by a jarhead, no less. On the other hand, John did feel a little shaky at the thought of cornering McKay to sign this thing, so what did that say about him? About the future? About his life from now on as a cycon? He'd lost his safety. It had only ever been an illusion, as it turned out. Anyone with a ten-digit number could turn him into a slave.

God, the thought was beyond terrifying.

"Fine. C'mon then," John had said, and Bates hadn't even smiled at the victory, just tagged along.

That wasn't the only time, either. A lot more human marines hung around him than used to. He wondered how much of it was him being co-commander of the base, and how much of it was protective detail assigned by Bates or word-of-mouth. The other cycons had a buddy system going, too, he was relieved to see, cycons with human partners, intermingling more than they ever had before.

All to be safe from one squirrely scientist who spent most of his time in the lab.

Sheppard swung by there a lot to check on Radek. If Zelenka noticed, he didn't say anything. Sheppard felt guilty he hadn't told Radek about what Rodney had done, but he figured Radek was the last cycon in the galaxy Rodney would code, and Bates and John had set up a closed-circuit camera on him as well, keeping careful watch. The only reason John had bothered to report McKay the one time he'd caught him was to set the precedent. He'd been hoping never to catch him at all.

Overall, though, John found it strange to have humans looking out for him—seeing them looking out for other cycons. John wondered—could something like this only happen on Atlantis? Was it possible something like this was happening somewhere back on Earth?

Was there a tipping point, maybe, where enough cycons and enough humans interacted that somehow, someday, people could start to accept them as real, as people, worthy of trust? Worthy of care and protection?

He was shaken more than he could ever let on by Elizabeth's words in the infirmary. Words she'd said to Rodney before they'd even left Earth.

Every day now, in almost every way, he felt almost human. The only thing left was this damned code. If Radek, with McKay's help, could fix it, John and the other cycons would be home free.

"Home" being Atlantis.

:::

"Yes, yes, ye—no! Go back! There, that board, there. No, maybe the next one. God, what a mess. This stuff is all spaghetti, here. They really should have hired better engineers."

"You think so?" Radek tilted his head. "And yet this system sophisticated enough to have beaten your Turing test for over eight years."

"Yes, but that's cheating; I had no idea I was being tested."

Radek sniffed. "Control conditions."

"Puleeze." Rodney poked at the keyboard until the next schematic popped up. "Waitaminnit. Here we go. This is something..."

"Yes. Indeed, yes. Much better way in. Not so invasive, and much less likely to cause damage to inode."

"You'll clip in here, though, really, I am the much better man for this—"

Radek dropped his hands to the desk with a disbelieving sigh. "You still go on about this, as if there were any possibility—"

"Well? I am the better engineer—"

"I think before you, John Sheppard would allow cycon electrician with cordless drill! Rozumíš?

Rodney deflated. "Yeah, yeah. I get it. Just...I could do it!"

"There is no doubt of this, but he does not want human in his brain. It is quite unreasonable; I don't understand why. He only trusts cycon. Is a terrible prejudice." Radek patted his arm comfortingly.

Rodney squeezed his eyes shut, overwhelmed by the lies, by the guilt.

By the expression on Sheppard's face every time he saw Rodney.

With a sudden start of fear, Rodney looked up, then over at Miko's desk—empty—then Lowenstein's—also empty. Oh, crap.

"Listen, Radek, I am just dying for a peanut-butter Power Bar. I'm going to run out and get one, and some fresh coffee—"

"We have coffee, and there is Power Bar in desk—"

"Not that flavor! So, I'll be right back—"

Rodney jumped up, barely avoiding tangling his pant-cuff with the stool, and was in the hallway before anyone caught him. God knew how long he had been in there alone with Radek, but it had been too quiet for too long, so maybe as long as forty-five minutes, if not an hour.

Actually, it turned out it was an hour and thirteen minutes according to the security tape Bates showed him later in his office, with Sheppard lurking in the background with his arms crossed.

"Look, if you have a security camera, then I don't see what the trouble is. I'm not alone, anyway, right?" Rodney said nervously.

"You think we have time to watch you twenty-four-seven, McKay?" Bates didn't look amused. "Make sure you behave and don't abuse your co-workers?"

Rodney felt his face heat.

Sheppard rubbed his palm over his eyes. "Okay. Just...let him go with a slap on the wrist. Say short rations at dinner. He was obviously just working hard with Radek on something...as soon as he looked around he jetted out of there."

"If you let him go easy, he'll just make a habit of it."

"Yeah, well, hopefully this will all be over soon. And if not, maybe we can send him somewhere there aren't any cycons at all."

Rodney felt a shiver deep in his gut. Send him somewhere else! Even if they could somehow send him home...because he did have—he'd downloaded the entire CyberTronics database, which meant if they ever reconnected with Earth and reported him, his crime made him unemployable anywhere there were CT cycons, anywhere on Earth.

His crime. He'd committed a crime.

"Please. I won't. I won't—" he swallowed hard. "I'll be good."

"Yeah, it's okay, Rodney," Sheppard said. "You tried. I saw. Short rations for dinner, that's all."

"Thanks."

"Get out of here; get some rest. Pick up on it tomorrow."

:::

But at dinner he ran into Radek, who saw his short rations and had questions.

"What happened? You did not come back with Power Bar. Instead, you desert me, and only to show up to eat dreck? What is this? And to have no pudding?" Radek gave him a gentle smile and said, "I worry sometimes about you, my friend."

"No need to worry, Radek. You know sometimes my stomach is flighty. I need bland foods."

"And pudding is not bland? I will get you some." Radek made as if to stand, and Rodney grabbed his arm.

One table over, Private Thomasson stiffened.

Rodney dropped his hand quickly and sat back. "I'm not in the mood for pudding," he said, a little forcefully, and dug into his string beans.

Radek's eyes narrowed behind what Rodney now realized were completely unnecessary glasses. What a fool he was.

"You will tell me what is happening or I will find out myself," Radek said, looking about as stern as Rodney had ever seen him.

Rodney quailed, but nodded. "Not here," he said, but then realized they couldn't be alone. "In the infirmary, okay?"

Radek looked even more worried but nodded.

They had to wait until Carson wasn't busy, and then Rodney dragged him into his office, feeling worse by the second, like the end of the world was coming. All his most painful memories, he realized, occurred in the infirmary, so it seemed apt the end of his friendship with Radek would happen here.

Only, it didn't quite happen that way. Because this time he was the one who told the story, and this time, he told it the other way around.

"When I was growing up," he said, a little disconcerted by how thin his voice sounded, "my parents wanted a little girl, but they couldn't, you know, so they got a cycon. Her name was Jeannie, and she was supposed to be my little sister."

He told them how ideal Jeannie was, and how pretty—the perfect little girl. So lovable, such a contrast to their son, the problem child with the allergies and the awkward adolescence and the brilliant mind.

And then the car accident that no one could prove was an accident. His parents, dead. And he was young, and lost, and suddenly so very alone. And no one knew what had really caused the crash.

"Oh, Rodney." Carson looked shocked.

"I was sure it was her. I had never trusted her, because I was so angry at her for, well, stealing them from me, really. Just stupid adolescent rivalry for my parents' affection. But then they were all gone, and she had suffered a catastrophic failure, so the techs couldn't recover anything from her. And she—Jeannie's cortex was scrambled. I...developed a prejudice from the incident." He couldn't look at Radek, but he had to say it, "I'm sorry, Radek. I'm sorry for what I said to you that day about Sheppard. What you don't know is how I got him in the cell. I mean, big tough major, right? The cycon who took down the Genii? Didn't you ever wonder?"

Rodney turned back to see Radek's expression turn from puzzled to thoughtful to dismayed.

"I had his override code. I obtained it from—"

"Oh, Rodney. _Jak jsi mohla...?_ "

"I know, I know, I'm an asshole."

Radek leaned back and crossed his arms. "Yes. Very big asshole. To do such a thing...is horrible."

Rodney cringed. "Well, I'm paying for it, believe me. They won't let me be alone with any of the cycons in Atlantis. Including you. So, that's why I'm acting weird, running off—"

Radek looked at Carson. "This is true?"

"Yes. I'm sorry, Radek, but it's for your own protection."

"I don't need protecting from my friend!"

Rodney's heart surged.

"He would never—"

"He already has."

That brought Radek up short. "Yes, but—"

"He did it to John. He recited the numbers. He made John helpless."

 _Shut up! Shut up,_ Rodney wanted to scream.

"He took him over. He made John obey his commands, even though John was trying desperately not to. Rodney did do this, Radek. We're not being irrational here. Rodney has committed a crime." Carson made an apologetic face.

"Yes, but," Radek looked at Rodney again, this time more thoughtfully. "I think he would not do this to me. Not even if I asked him to."

"No, no. Never, Radek. I swear it."

Radek smiled sadly. "No, I think not. But we must obey the rules, I suppose. I will help you, my friend, so you do not forget."

Rodney smiled in pure relief, for the faith, and for two little words.

"Thank you, my friend."

:::

Carson sat him down and pulled a bottle out of his bottom drawer. Rodney's eyes were too blurry to see what it was, but the smell of good liquor followed, and he accepted the shot glass with relief. The first sipped burned, and his eyes with it.

"You never told me, lad."

Rodney sighed.

"All these years we've been friends."

"It wasn't something I was comfortable with."

"Aye, obviously not." Carson refilled his glass, then said, "I'm sorry about your parents. To lose them so young..."

Rodney scrubbed at his face. "Yes, well—I went to college six months later, so I didn't have to live with my white trash aunt and uncle for very long, thank God."

Carson made a tsking sound. After a pause, he said, "Tell me about Jeannie, Rodney. Tell me about your sister."

And oddly enough, Rodney wanted to.

So, he did.

:::

"Rodney told me what he did with your code." Radek sounded stern.

John looked away with a wince. "Look, Radek, I'm sorry I didn't—we kept an eye on you both at all times, but I don't actually have jurisdiction over you, only over my crew, and I didn't want to mess up your...shit. I'm sorry. I didn't know whether you would want to know that about Rodney or not—"

Radek sighed. "It is a terrible thing he did. I do not know that I wanted to know. But if it does some good so we can work more freely?" He shrugged. "I am only sorry for what he did to you."

John shrugged uncomfortably. "You guys are looking into fixing it though, right?" And if he sounded a little desperate, he figured Radek would understand.

"Ano." Radek nodded. "We will find a way. Together."

Somehow, John believed him. "There's something you should know, though. Rodney didn't mean to but he was real upset, and he slipped up—let Bates know about you."

Radek blinked, his mouth going tight. "This...is not comfortable news."

"I know. I'm sorry."

Staring up at the ceiling, Radek seemed to consider it. "I have hidden all of my years of life. Must be difficult for you to understand, Major." He waved at the mark on John's neck. "But I and my line were something of an experiment."

"Yeah, I figured it was something like that."

Radek shook his head and smiled ruefully. "It is funny, but lately, here, I find I have been somewhat jealous of the way people look at you and the other cycons, the marines. With respect, rozumíte? So, somehow this does not feel so much like a problem." He tapped his fingers against the lab table, his smile widening. "In fact, yes—I discover I am pleased. I will not be ashamed of what I am," he said, straightening his slim shoulders.

"That's good," John said, relieved and proud. "Bates, you know—he's a good guy. He's been watching out for-for me."

"Ah." Radek pointed. "But soon, perhaps, he won't have to."

:::

Radek understood now, why Rodney had to watch from above in the observer booth, his eyes on the monitor but with no keyboard connected. He could assist in words only, but the hands behind the operation would be Radek's own.

In his hands would be John's core. It was an honor untold. He would be worthy of it, he swore. Today, thanks to Ancient microprobe technology, he would be doing something impossible on Earth. He would be freeing the very first of his kind from slavery by tapping into John's AI core and negating his override code.

There was a risk, of course. Radek could so easily damage John's AI core. Hardware changes were normally impossible post-production without a core wipe. A single microscopic twitch of his fingers could destroy a thousand memories. A speck of dirt could short out a hundred thousand ionic relays, giving John, in essence, brain damage. This was another reason why it was a good idea for Radek to perform the procedure instead of a human like Rodney, as much as Rodney wanted to, as desperately as he implored for the privilege.

Rodney, perhaps, thought this way lay forgiveness, when in fact, invading John's mind again could only cause more damage to their relationship. A pity Rodney's pride made him incapable of seeing the truth: that by assisting Radek instead of doing it himself, he was already building unseen bridges.

Carson injected a local anesthetic, then made the initial incision and applied the suction before flash freezing the region. He made a final sterile swipe before nodding to Radek and stepping out of the room.

The rest of the procedure would continue with a subtle vacuum draw pulling any dust away from the area.

Radek carefully inserted the sterilized probe into the bare metal of John's cranial case. Right here, a bare cubic millimeter round, was the port Rodney had discovered in the schematic. When Rodney had told John of the plan, hope had flashed in John's eyes, brief and inspiring, before John turned to Radek and asked him plainly, _"Do you think you can do it? Really?"_

 _"I know it,_ bratr."

"John, can you hear me?" Radek asked him now, nudging him out of the sleep state.

"Yes," John said softly.

"I'm going to use your override code now. Is necessary in order to keep you absolutely immobile during procedure. Do you understand and consent?"

Sheppard was staring up at him, and even upside-down Radek could read the terror and determination in his eyes.

"Go for it, Radek."

Radek reached down and snapped off the microphone set next to the console, then recited John's ten-digit override code.

The expression drained from John's face immediately, like a switch flipped, and John said, "Unit 55592930299 is responding." His voice was flat and completely emotionless. "Awaiting input."

Radek felt a shiver travel over the skin of his arms. He had very responsive hair follicles thanks to the manufacturing defect in his particular model that caused increased tension response to adrenaloid instead of the opposite. It had led to his line being repurposed into the private sector as scientists and teachers, something unprecedented in the cycon industry at the time. It had changed the path of Radek's life.

And now Radek meant to change the path of John's, and squeamishness and woolgathering would not serve him here. He switched the mic back on.

"John, you must remain perfectly relaxed and still. Do not move."

"Affirmative." John's body settled more fully onto the table, his arms and legs turning outward, his eyes closing to half-mast.

"That's very good, John." Radek took a breath and focused his eyesight into high magnitude. His glasses lay folded on the workbench beside him, and he felt strangely naked without them, but there was only Rodney to see. Rodney would not betray him. Radek rested his wrist in the support and slid the probe perfectly evenly into the slot until, with a brilliant flash of light on the screen, he breached John's core.

Radek was in.

The next hour was breathtaking and grueling at once. His face was flushed as the mix of synthetic adrenaline and other stress hormones forced his capillaries to expand and his flesh to overheat. Yet those same hormones made his ionic response sharper, faster, made everything crystal clear, and with Rodney's occasional notes of discovery and their mutual brainstorming, they wove their way through the paths of John's trigger relays until they located it—the single remaining hard-wired switch not under John's conscious or semi-conscious, voluntary control, but rather isolated—disconnected from any AI back-relay response.

The location wasn't very deep, but it was delicately connected to John's central fiber optic system.

"Rodney," Radek said quietly. "How can I—" His hand very nearly trembled, and Radek had to stop and take shallow breaths, the probe still balanced perfectly within his fingers.

"You can do it," Rodney said, his voice almost abrasive. "Bates could do this, Radek. Merely insert it just below the yellow and red-striped capacitor and sever the left-hand connection with the debonder, but without, repeat, without sending any current through the microfiber and shorting out his central fiber optic system."

"Zkurvysyn," Radek muttered softly and then turned the current slider to its 'on' setting at the very lowest, and held his breath. He could hold his breath for up to ten minutes. With any luck, this would only take two.

Actually, it only took, by his silent mental count, forty-eight seconds to pop the debonder out, position the edge just under the left-hand connection, and then, with the barest touch to the microfiber filament connecting the switch to John Sheppard's AI Core, sever the connection.

John blinked. "What?"

"John. Don't move. Don't move." Oh, they hadn't thought of this. This hadn't occurred to them. How foolish. They'd been certain the release was on the parallel switch. "It is imperative you don't move the tiniest amount." Thank heavens Carson had strapped his head down.

"There is just one last thing to do, John. Please, be patient. And don't move." There was still the other side of the connector, but now that Radek had disconnected one arm, he simply nudged the microscopic switch over until it was not in danger of ever reconnecting.

Then Radek slowly and carefully retracted the probe until it was free of John's core. When the tip cleared the exposed metal of John's skull, Radek realized he could finally take another breath.

"It's done, John," Radek said. "You are a free man."

"You did it?" John said. His eyes were disbelieving, his forehead drawn tight in a frown. "Really?"

"No, we did." Radek looked up at Rodney. "Rodney and I."

John blinked. "You guys did it. No more override."

"No more. The hardware is disconnected."

Again, John blinked. "Try it. You know..." His face screwed in a wince. "Test it out."

Radek smiled and flipped off the mic. "8-2-0-9-3-5-3-0-8-5."

After a moment, John smiled, then grinned, wide, the widest smile Radek had seen him allow himself. "I can't believe...it's hard to process." He tried to get up, then frowned.

"Oh. First we must—" Radek flipped on the microphone. "Dr. Beckett, we are ready for you to close." Radek patted John's shoulder. "Stay still. You have to be sewn up by the good Doctor Beckett. And then we will celebrate, ano?"

"Ano. Thanks. Hey," John said, raising his voice, "thanks, McKay. Thanks a lot."

Radek lifted his head and refocused his eyes for distance just in time to catch Rodney raising both his arms in exuberance.

:::

John was in a little bit of a daze for the next few days. Fortunately, his people went easy on him, maybe because of his unusually high and tight haircut and the ugly scar he was sporting until the skin healed up. Or maybe it was because word had gotten around about what all the cycons were going through.

Radek was doing all the surgeries. Rodney had discovered, to his dismay, that his hands just weren't steady enough, even in simulation, so the question hadn't even come up about him doing any of the others.

Of course, that meant when it came to doing Radek's, there was going to be a problem. But John figured he could do it with Rodney's help. No one had proposed it yet, but John had sat in on one of the surgeries, and it didn't look that hard. He had good hands, and the topography so far was looking the same for each of the cycons. Thomasson volunteered to go second, and John had been fascinated at first by the cutting part, and then more than a little freaked out by the override. He'd gritted his teeth, though, and watched, because there was no way to leave the clean room once the procedure had started.

Afterward, he'd gone back to his quarters and sat on his cot in near shutdown mode for two hours. When he came out of it, it was with the memory of Rodney's smug commands lingering in his mind, until he reminded himself it couldn't ever happen to him again. Never again. They could imprison him, they could slice him up, they could tear his limbs off, but no one, _no one_ could override him, order him around, invade his mind—not ever again.

He wasn't a robot. He was a cycon. He was a person.

That night, he took Radek out to the south pier and offered him a bottle of peppermint oil—a total cycon treat. Felt amazing when they rubbed it on their skin, tasted incredible on the tongue. Humans didn't get it.

Radek's eyes lit up, and he opened it and dabbed some on his finger, then sucked it into his mouth. "I smuggled three bottles of peppermint schnapps," he confessed. "I should have brought some."

"Oh, you lucky bastard," John said, grinning. "So...I just wanted to thank you, because you've got no idea how bad off I'd be right now if I still had the override hanging over my head—"

"It was Rodney's idea."

"Yeah, well, but he's the reason I was so fucked up about it to begin with, so—kinda hard to be too grateful to him. No, no," John said, raising his hands when Radek started to protest, "I get it. He had his stuff to deal with. I'm really free now, and that's partly thanks to him. So I am grateful. But...."

"I understand." Radek nodded slowly.

"Thing is, I want you to have this too, Doc. And I really think I can do it. I watched you today. I've got steady hands like you wouldn't believe. If Rodney watched over the cam and directed me, I know I could pull it off. If you trusted me."

Radek tilted his head, almost bird-like, and then his cheek creased a small, wry smile. "Would be hypocritical of me not to, don't you think, Major?"

"Eh. This is your life we're talking about here. You've never seen me in action."

"I have. I have seen you under terrible conditions."

John shook his head. "But not exactly like this. So, you know, think about it. Give it some thought."

"I will. But I think I know what I will do. And number one," Radek grinned and jumped to his feet, "I will go fetch my schnapps. We have much to celebrate, Major. You are a free man, and I am soon to be."

"I can get behind that."

:::

So, it turned out schnapps weren't so good for his AI core, not that John had ever had one of these "hangover" things humans were always bitching about, but he wasn't in the greatest mood at breakfast the next morning.

That all changed, though, when Beckett called him down to the infirmary to ask him to escort Dr. Weir to her quarters.

"So he's finally had enough of your lollygagging," John said, leaning against the doorway.

"My what?" Elizabeth was practically beaming as she packed up the few things that had accumulated during her stay.

"Lollygagging, freeloading...you've just been hanging out here, jimmy-jacking around for way too long, lady." John hid a grin.

"I take it you're tired of paperwork."

"And meetings. God, so many meetings, meetings, meetings."

She tilted her head. "I'm kind of fond of meetings, myself."

"Yeah, but you just had major brain surgery, so you're a little bit..." He spun one finger near his temple.

"So did you! I can't believe you didn't have them fix that little defect while they were in there."

John heard himself make a sound Mitch always told him would scare children away. _"That's not a laugh, Shep. C'mon, you can do better than that."_ It surprised him. He hadn't laughed since his buddies had died.

But Elizabeth was laughing too, gazing at him with some wonder, her bag hanging from her hands.

"Here—let me get that for you," he said, and walked her back to her quarters.

:::

"This is it, right here, right?" John said, holding the probe tip close to the yellow and red-striped capacitor.

"Yes," Rodney's voice came over the speaker. "Now turn the current on low for the debonder and extrude it. You want to sever the left-hand connection. But be very careful only to touch the microfiber above the circuit."

"Got it," John said, flicking the switch with his free hand. There was a hum, and John held his breath and moved the extruded tip a microscopic amount. With a tiny zap, the connection severed, and he shut off the debonder then pushed one arm of the capacitor free.

Radek's eyes opened. "John?"

"Hey, there, free person."

Radek smiled brilliantly. "Steady hands, indeed."

:::

"You got a minute, Dr. McKay?"

Rodney looked up in surprise to find Major Sheppard standing in the doorway, and Rodney found himself searching nervously around the lab for another human before he remembered he didn't have to worry anymore.

"What can I do for you, Major?"

Sheppard shifted awkwardly before stepping inside. If Rodney didn't know any better, he'd almost think the major was nervous.

 _Oh._ This would be the first time they were alone together since, well, that whole thing had occurred. Not that Rodney had any remaining power over the man. But he supposed the major had a right to be a little skittish. How strange, though, to think he would be.

Sheppard took another step and stood behind his lab table. "I was just speaking to Elizabeth about creating some permanent off-world teams."

"Yes, and...?"

Blowing out a breath, Sheppard raised a hand to scratch at the back of his neck, then made a noise that sounded almost like a whuff of laughter.

Rodney wondered with a dim sense of dismay how he could ever have been so blind to how human Sheppard was. It was a very poor showing of his own powers of observation.

"And...I was wondering if you want to be on mine," Sheppard said, giving him a quick look.

"Are you serious?"

"Well, yeah."

"You can't—really?" Heat ran up Rodney's neck. He wasn't sure if he was gratified or embarrassed, and then he realized he was angry. "Oh, ha, very ha, Major."

"What?"

"Joke's on me, I suppose. I'm guessing you have your cameras still running."

"What—no!" Sheppard leaned one hand on the lab table and glared. "You have real issues, you know that, McKay? This is a serious offer. I need a full-time scientist, and you're the best." He shrugged.

Now Rodney was embarrassed. And gratified. "Oh. Well, uh, then I—I accept. And thank you. Although why I'm thanking you when I'll most likely die in some horribly gruesome fashion, I have no idea."

Sheppard shook his head. "I'll take care of you out there, I promise."

"Yes, well. If anyone can, I suppose you—you've proven it." Rodney cleared his throat.

A smile flashed across Sheppard's face, almost too brief for Rodney to catch but he did. He found himself smiling back involuntarily before ducking his head.

"If that's all, I have a lot of work to do, Major."

"Sure thing. I'll schedule you in for some PT starting tomorrow," Sheppard said.

"What? You didn't say anything about PT!"

But Sheppard was already gone.

:::

"It's pretty simple—the numbers one to nine can be put in a three by three grid to add up to fifteen in each direction."

"Oh. Well, I would have figured that out," Rodney said, and John smirked. He had to admit, McKay was growing on him.

The ZPM popped out of the wall sweet as candy. The three-day puzzle it had taken to find it had been a cakewalk between the four of them. John was starting to think things were turning around for them in Pegasus. With this team, anything seemed possible.

At least until they reached the roadway and were surrounded by bandits, or what appeared to be bandits but were actually the New Brotherhood, people in league with Allina, the woman who was supposedly helping them find the ZPM.

"You are not the Ancestors," Allina said. "We will take the Potentia and keep it safe for them." She tried to snatch the ZPM from Rodney, but John got there first, grabbing it and stepping off to the side so Rodney would be out of the line of fire.

He had an idea. A zany, nutty idea that probably wouldn't work, but what the hell. "What do you know of what the Ancestors want," John said. He gave Teyla a look, trying to clue her in, and Teyla frowned but nodded.

John tucked the ZPM against his side and warned Rodney back with a glance, saying to Allina, "This belongs rightly to Atlantis. If you think you're more deserving, you'll have to take it back." And then he started running.

He felt the first impact of bullets almost immediately, at least half a dozen, and was really wishing he'd kept his vest on in spite of the heat while they'd been digging. But he was fast, and the New Brotherhood was crap at running and shooting at the same time. They hit him a few times more, making him stumble a little. John could only hope Teyla, Ford and Rodney were safe, that John had drawn enough of the thieves away to protect them, because he wasn't stopping till he hit the Gate.

A couple more bullets; he'd lost count. Then the weapons fire petered off. He'd probably been hit at least a dozen times by now, and he was losing a lot of volume, enough that his thoughts were getting slow and stupid, but he was still moving, still pumping his free arm and his legs, and when he glanced back he had room, lots of room between him and his pursuers.

The Gate was there in the distance. The light was growing dim, but he was closer, close enough. He cradled the ZPM in his left arm like a football, with the Gate as his goal post.

 _Hail Mary,_ John thought, and he laughed a little crazily and kept on running.

:::

"He's not—there's no pulse from his pneumo. Quick, get him onto the gurney." Carson looked at the small pond of fluid surrounding John's body and had to swallow back his dismay. He knew in his heart that John could recover from this, but the physician in him despaired at the multiple GSWs, at the torn flesh and the pale, slack countenance, the utter lack of animation.

"He won't let go of this," Corpsman Khong said, tugging at the ZPM clutched under John's arm. Blood fluid oozed sluggishly from John's many wounds with the jostling of his body.

"Just slide it out," Carson said, snapping a little. "Come on! We have to get him patched up. He's gone into shutdown to prevent core damage. We need to get blood flowing back to his organs and tissues."

Khong gave a grunt and pulled the ZPM free, then gasped with dismay a moment later when the bloody thing almost slipped from his hands.

"Careful! Jesus." Carson could only imagine what the thing was worth to demand such a cost.

"I will take that," Radek said, stepping up beside Khong and deftly relieving him of the precious object.

"C'mon, laddie," Carson said hoarsely as he and Khong started pushing John toward the infirmary. "We'll get you fixed up in no time at all."

:::

"John. John, can you hear me?"

"Why isn't he awake? I thought they never lost consciousness?"

"I told you, Rodney—he lost so much blood volume his cortex had to shut down to prevent catastrophic damage. Now that we've restored some fluid, his internal sensors should have noted the increase and brought him back online."

"That's...just..." Rodney made a sound.

"It's no more different than you or I when we lose consciousness," Carson said, and John smiled.

"He smiled! He's awake!"

"John." Carson squeezed his shoulder. "How are you feeling, son?"

"It is good to see you awake, John," Teyla said.

John did a systems check. He was back in the tank, and felt the raw nerves of wounds healing all over his back, shoulders and legs. But his mind felt calm and alert. "Good. I'm good," he said, smiling at Teyla.

"Good! Good, he says." Rodney was clutching the side of the biotank, his face rigid with consternation. "They shot you fifteen times! There was blood all over the DHD, all over the ground. When we got there we had to hide and wait for Allina and her crew to clear out, and they said you never stopped running all the way back, bleeding the entire way..." Rodney swallowed. "You realize that's utterly insane, right? I mean, didn't they program you with a single shred of self-preservation? Those people were dead set on killing you!"

John frowned. "Are they going to give us trouble, you think?"

Rodney rolled his eyes. "Oh, them. No. They took it as a weird sign or something, that the Ancestors willed it if man could survive being shot a dozen times and bleed all over the DHD getting the thing home to the City of the Ancestors, maybe that's where it really belonged. They took off, and after they left we dialed the Gate, only to find you'd shut down in the Gate room and had to be carted off to the infirmary like broken toy."

"Amazing," John said to Teyla. "I don’t think he needs to breathe any more than I do." She smirked.

"Oh! In the meantime, while we were gone, Markham blew up a dart that was buzzing the city. We think he got it before it managed to broadcast anything, but just in case, we're going to use the new ZPM to dial Earth and let them know."

"Holy crap." John was relieved all the training Sumner insisted he do with Markham and the other pilots had paid off. The old man would have been proud.

God, John missed the old bastard, especially now it seemed they were going to dial Earth. John's future, and that of the other freed cycons, was uncertain.

"Never mind about all that, Rodney. Let the major rest and heal up." Carson started shooing Rodney and Teyla away.

"Thanks for stopping by, guys." Funny. No one had ever visited him in the tank before.

John dropped his head back and let his body do its thing.

:::

There was something wrong with Teyla. Ever since Dagan she'd started looking hollow-eyed, and each time she visited him in the infirmary she seemed to be getting worse. But when John asked her about it, she would murmur it was nothing, the usual, she was just having difficulty sleeping. Eventually, though she revealed she was having nightmares about the Wraith—about being a Wraith, staring down at herself in bed.

The situation escalated crazily from there, to them discovering the dart had beamed one of those bastards down to the city before Markham blew the dart out of the sky, and the reason Teyla was so out of whack was she was inadvertently communicating with it.

Once they realized out what was going on, Teyla figured out how to control the enemy Wraith with her mind so a team of cycons could hunt it down and take it out.

It was strange and disturbing seeing Teyla struggling for mastery over the alien mind while in her infirmary bed, and frustrating for John to have to listen to most of the action from the safety of his biotank. So he was relieved when Carson finally released him for duty and he could suit up for the mission to the planet where the Wraith had experimented on Teyla's father and others.

McKay and Beckett were delighted with the amount of data they gathered there—intrigued by what it meant about the origins of the Wraith, and the possibility of finding some weakness that could be exploited.

But John feared the cost of that knowledge was too high.

Afterward, he found Teyla curled up in one of the smaller rec rooms. She had a movie plying on the big screen—he peered at it for a moment and then recognized it as _The Godfather_ , her favorite for when she was in a bad mood.

"Leave the gun. Take the cannoli," he growled, sitting next to her on the couch.

Teyla sniffed. "You have already missed that part. Sonny is also dead." She paused the film and looked at John, her eyes red. "Michael never wished to take up his father's mantle. He wished to live a normal life. But he had no choice."

"Yeah." John put an arm around her shoulder and she turned into him.

"Even though I fought it at times, especially as a child, I have always known what I had to do, who I am. Now, who am I?" Teyla's voice wavered.

"Hey, you're you! You're still you."

"I am not. I am part Wraith," she said, loathing in her voice.

"A _tiny_ part; like, miniscule." He held his fingers up to demonstrate. "Not even enough to mention. You heard what Beckett said. Point oh-oh-one percent or something."

Teyla made a choking sound and tried to pull away.

"Sorry, I know. Believe me, I know. Look, remember what you said to me when I told you...about me? You're human. You bleed, Teyla. You're bleeding right now. You think a Wraith would care about something like that?"

"No," she whispered.

"It's part of what I, you know...I like that about you. I like what you are. Everything that makes you Teyla."

She looked up at him, her lashes damp.

"Wouldn't change a damned thing."

Teyla smiled, if a little shakily.

"Especially if it helps us fight those bastards. You were something else getting into his head like that."

Her smile firmed up and turned absolutely fierce. "Don Corleone would say, 'Don't ever take sides with anyone against the Family, ever.'"

"Oh, no, Ma'am. Not a chance."

Teyla nodded and turned the movie back on.

:::

"Ready for the big moment?" Dr. Weir was leaning over the railing above the Gate room, her eyes on the Stargate.

He wasn't, really. Reconnecting with Earth meant reconnecting with the old rules, with the society that had created them with a hardwired slave switch. But he had no choice.

"I guess. Thanks for waiting."

"Well, I assume they're going to want you to report as well." Elizabeth gave him an arch look. "It's been a busy year for us."

"No kidding." He thought of their losses but also of their achievements. The alliances and the new discoveries the sciences had to report. Yes, they had a new enemy, but so far they had a pretty good defense against them.

"Chuck, let's dial home," Elizabeth said.

"Yes, ma'am."

John walked over with her to join Rodney at the video console he'd set up in Elizabeth's office. As soon as they settled, General O'Neill's face fuzzed into view, and John straightened into a salute. He saw O'Neill frown and hid his own wince. After Elizabeth gave her own greetings, John spoke.

"Sir, it saddens me to report that Colonel Sumner lost his life to a nanite virus. It was part of a bio-warfare weapon the Ancients had left in a damaged lab. We didn't discover a solution until too late to save the Colonel."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Major. Colonel Sumner was a good man."

"The best, sir." John's vocal chords were failing to function properly.

"You're acting as base commander?"

"Yes, sir."

"That's...a little surprising but good. Well, it's great to hear from you kids. We were getting a little worried."

"We're doing well, General," Elizabeth said, and nodded to Chuck. "In fact, we're just transmitting our first year's mission reports, along with the scientific data gathered by Dr. McKay's team. He says Colonel Carter will find it of particular interest, especially the information he's managed to collect on naquadah power conversion."

O'Neill raised one eyebrow. "Thanks. I'll pass that along." He cleared his throat. "You folks should know there've been some, uh, social changes over here. Worldwide, or at least in the U.N. countries."

"Oh, really?" Elizabeth shared a covert look with John and Rodney.

O'Neill nodded and flicked a glance at John. "A U.S. Army cycon was taken captive and tortured, apparently for information, or maybe for kicks. It's not really that clear. We managed to extract him and the people responsible, but when our President pushed for prosecution under the articles of the Geneva Convention, he was told they didn't apply. That got him in a little bit of a snit, and apparently, uh, somehow the digital recording of Private Knoll's experiences popped up on the internet, complete with audio—we haven't managed to figure out how that leaked out, of course." O'Neill rubbed his nose. "Well, quicker than you can say 'Amnesty International,' folks all over the world started petitioning for a change in U.N. status for all cycons."

John held his breath.

"Then, a couple of really surprising people outed themselves as cycons, including the Minister of Foreign Affairs of the Czech Republic and a few really famous musicians and artists in Eastern Europe, and things got even hotter. So," O'Neil shrugged, "about a month or so back, the U.N. granted provisional human rights to cycons under the articles."

John realized he was still holding his breath, and let it out slowly and, he hoped, unnoticeably. He looked at Elizabeth, who was grinning broadly, and then over at Rodney, who was bouncing up and down a little.

"That's-that's good news, sir."

"Congratulations, Major, on being human," O'Neill said, his voice loaded with irony.

"Or almost," John said under his breath.

"Well, I'd say we pretty much all fit that category, Sheppard," O'Neill returned.

John figured O'Neill was right about that, so he said, "Sir, yes, sir," and saluted, unable to contain the grin that was spreading across his face.

For once, he didn't even care to try.

:::

He'd summoned them all together in the assembly room—Zelenka, and Jasper, Greene, Thomasson, Rodriguez, Damaolao and all the other cycons under his command. He told them about Private Knoll and his sacrifice and the result, about the cycons who had outed themselves, risking their lives and their livelihoods. And about how they were all now considered provisionally human in the eyes of the U.N. Maybe someday soon U.S. law would follow, although John wasn't holding his breath on that score.

Jasper said a few words about Sergeant Singh, and how she would have built them some awesome damned fireworks to celebrate the day if she'd lived.

John looked around and realized somehow, when he wasn't looking, he'd gotten a new family. He'd let them in somehow, Thomasson with his whacked ideas of what constituted a good knock-knock joke, Damaolao with his craptastic camp cooking, Jasper with his pathetic loyalty to Notre Dame, and Radek with his sly digs about John's poor chess strategies. And the twenty-plus cycon marines who called him brother.

And even outside this room, there'd been Sumner, who'd called a cycon zoomie one of his own; there was Elizabeth, who'd defended the rights of all the expedition cycons even before they'd left Earth; Teyla, who never shied away from him, not even after he'd shown himself to be something she'd never encountered before; Carson, who'd always treated them like people when they limped through the infirmary doors; Bates, who'd been fiercely protective of him and the others, staying up shifts to guard Radek; and even Rodney, who in his own, genius way had found the means to free them all of that final, dehumanizing backdoor. All these people were John's now, to defend and care for. He'd shown them who he was, and the sky hadn't fallen.

"To being human," John said, and his brothers and sisters echoed him as they all raised their glasses.

The last of Radek's peppermint schnapps tasted damned sweet going down.

  


_End._

Comments always welcome here or [at my LiveJournal](http://esteefee.livejournal.com/73296.html#comments).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weir's Gate speech is from _Rising_.
> 
> Asimov's Three Laws of Robotics (in this AU, slightly altered for the expedition's CoC.)  
> 1\. A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm. (John and the others would be allowed to injure or kill those human beings designated as Enemy Combatants.)  
> 2\. A robot must obey any orders given to it by human beings, except where such orders would conflict with the First Law. (Or unless they are designated as Enemy Combatants.)  
> 3\. A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Law. (John's Presidential Order supersedes the first two laws. This is unprecedented.)
> 
> Czech Translations:  
> "Jak jsi mohla?" – How could you?  
> "Zkurvysyn." – Motherfucker.  
> "Zatraceně!" — Damn it.  
> "Je mi líto." – I'm sorry.  
> "Rozumíš?" — Do you understand?
> 
> No offense meant to East Texas. I know some awfully good folk from 'round thereabouts who don't ever start bar fights.
> 
> "Tin Can" is a reference to Battlestar Galactica, the original series. In the episode The Young Lords, when Starbuck is marooned on the planet with the kids, they refer to the cylons as the "Tin Cans" when plotting to destroy the weapons garrison. I have no effin' clue whether or not the cylons were referred to as Tin Cans in any of the reboot eps, but I find it a fun irony to refer to the cycons as Tin Cans as a slur in this (obviously I picked a nickname for cycons that was close to cylons). Oh, and Starry Diadem has an absolutely brilliant BSG orig WIP called the Taking Shield Series in which the IL-Series cylons had hybrid human/cyborg brains (thanks to cylon experimentation on humans) in order to make them more flexible/adaptable thinkers.


	3. Alternate Cover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cover Art by the effin' brilliant [lorien_79](http://lorien_79.livejournal.com). I cannot thank her enough for her talent and her kindness. She made me not one but two fabulous covers. It was a tough call.

  
[](http://archiveofourown.org/works/256688/chapters/400570)  
  



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